Dear Old Friend

When death comes, He will find me with a cup of tea, Enjoying the summer evening rains. He will find me with my favourite book, Turned to the page I like the most. He will find me with the radio on, Playing a song very well a retro now. He will find me in my mother's dress, Draped clumsily on a whim. He will find me with my father's pen, And a blank notebook in the lap. He will find me with our wedding photos by the bedside table, And his cologne still saturating the sheets decades later. He will find me with the memories of our children, And the last conversation we had a month ago. He will find me with anticipation and relief, With a smile and perhaps a tear or two. Death will find me willing and ready, And a little nervous to meet the familiar 'ol friend.