The man in the
long black cloak visited again last night,
Knocking with his cold hand of
bony white,
Cometh he, for a
soul to take,
Taketh he to that immortal
place,
Where all dwell—
and abide doth all stay
After passing past our dying
day.
Where lifetime is judged, but no judgement
passed,
No
lines are drawn, no colours cast.
Dwell all and all from young and old,
In
pastures green— oaks bold.
Cometh he in the long black cloak, in the
haven of the night,
Knocking
with his cold staff of bony white,
Open the doors; let in the light
And
continue your journey,
Though you know not what you seek,
May
the luxury you found, ‘twas not yours to keep.
Precious is our stay upon our Earth,
But
eternity is merely a rolling hearse,
Over the hills... far away,
Turn
your back; hark what the wind says:
As he in the long black cloak knocks upon
your door,
Listen
to his sound... and fear no more...
No comments:
Post a Comment