An old song.
When I was young, I knew that I would die.
The fear of an old death went out with me.
The ranked green wasted; fiddle, so did I.
But I was long lived as the hemlock tree.
Yes I was strong as juniper.
The pitch,
The amber resin,
All of those strong tars.
The pungent aromatics of the bitch I
kept in fascinating rows of jars.
All those other odors.
Love's a smell.
I'll dance the diddy on a wrinkled knee.
The empty udders dangle on the shell.
Now that that's gone some of the bone with me.
I tell you death's hard fought for.
Hard to kill.
On powdered mirrors
These death's eyes out stare the old bold adversary of the will.
I am the death.
And who comes for his share?