Remember Me.
By John Herlihy

I was born in the evening,
Six pm to be precise.
The day had become old,
During the globe’s turning,
I too looked old from pruning.

I was not yet ripe with yearning;
I still had my whole life to live.
I would find a multitude to give;
An old soul on earth finding its way,
Awakening at the end of the day.

Death awaits me in the morning;
It greets me with something to say.
“Remember me,” it casually whispers,
Like a shy and hesitant sister,
Unwilling to give her secret away.

I now go about my business,
Every minute of every day;
But I know that one day in the morning,
Without the least warning,
The whisper will become a question:
“Did you remember me?”

The morning in question arrived;
I had a long while survived.
The question was whispered in my ear;
I answered clearly for all to hear.
Death, my friend, died that day,
I began to live the eternal day.