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When Death walks out among Life’s crowd,
What pains he takes to see
He carries just the very shroud
He’s made for you (you’ll see).
He carries it close to his breast,
And you may hear his sighs,
Since all are loath whenever pressed
To try it on for size.
Only once (so long ago)
When Death was very young,
Did he meet one who did not know,
And harkened to his tongue.
With tender care Death placed it round
His chest but he cried—Death,
I fear for how my life is bound
—I cannot catch my breath!
Death, take it off—please! take it back
—Oh, something is not right!
So very tight—and black—it is
—And such a loathesome sight!
And Death, O Death, where is its end?
Oh, something’s very wrong!
If nothing else this you must mend
—It’s dreadful much too long!
Death took great pains then to extol
Its virtue most devout:
Life, Time may never, ever it toll,
Wear thy fit garment out!
Oh, Death, whenever I move it creaks,
—And chafes my life away!
And every rotting fibre reeks
The odor of decay!
He tore it off and flung anon
Death’s raiment to the ground,
Whereon it writhed itself thereon
Into a ghastly mound.
He turned and fled—he flew from Death,
So quickly he did fly;
Yet knew he’d caught the horrid breath
Of what it’s like to die.
So frightful Death’s enshrouding dole
Life swears he’ll never forget,
Nor evermore stop, to save his soul,
For Death—but flee; and yet…
When Death walks out among Life’s crowd
What pains he takes to see
He carries just the very shroud
He’s made for you (you’ll see).
And you may hear his sighs aloud
As Death, befittingly,
Carries just the size, the very shroud
That you may hope to see.
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