Death Comes Stalking

His breath I’ve felt in recent years, Upon my neck, infusing fear. Though when I turn to see who’s there, Emptiness greets me, vacant, bare. With menacing breath, dark and heavy He penetrates my defensive levies, Consuming my strength and vigor He leaves me weak, feeling meager. So every time I feel his breath, I turn around, expecting Death. Yet when I look, once again, All I find is the wind. Each time I think that all is lost, He’ll grant reprieve, but at such cost. He plans to take me ever slowly, That’s his plot, his sordid ploy. Death comes stalking, patient, steady, He’ll come to take me when he’s ready. His timing and methods are secretly kept. With this business, he’s most adept. When comes the day, he takes from me, All my strength, courage and vitality, I shall turn once more, look and find Death, waiting there behind. Then he’ll expel that fatal breath That'll take me to my final rest. For Death’s a stalker who cannot, Be outrun or cast off. TLH © 05-16-2012