Death come calling softly;
I hear your whisper on my wind--
I know your time must come to call.
Relax your reaper grim.

For as there is "high time" for birth,
so, too, the perfect time to die.
Thus is the holy enduring way
of Gaia's balance realized.

I expect this task must take its toll,
forever giving people fright.
You would, at once, reveal your ease,
would resistence relinquesh mighty fight.

Alas, when my contract closes,
as my candle wick frays thin,
come kindly lead me by the hand.
Let us embrace as new-found friends.

For as Sun and Moon in union
dance together in One sky,
yet we perceive stark opposites--
the day against the night . . .

so, too, the shrouded truth of you
that in the wind which brings my death
is one and the same from sacred rings
whence comes the newborn's breath.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Written in honor of those fighting for their
lives, and loved ones praying through the outcome.