Epitaph

He never played by published rules -- he lived his life as he saw fit; instead, he left to other fools their rash pursuits, the glory bit. He studied gulls -- the birds, their flight -- and wondered why they shriek all night. Dark shadows deepened in his eyes; the light from shaded windows faded. He heard the shrill, the poignant cries of gulls in flight from perches traded for graying, vague, and empty skies. At last he knew what birds foretold. In dry whispers, with rasping breath, he greeted the arrival of cold-natured, bony-fingered, grasping Death.