Death Came Knocking

Death Came Knocking

Death came knocking on my door; I bade him go away.
I found him walking on my floor; I said he could not stay.
He said, "your time has come, we must be on our way
just take my hand and we will go." Again I bade him nay.
His eye grew wide, his mouth drew down, but nothing did he say.
A pauper posing as a king, he turned and went away.
For many years my life went on, through sorrow and through joy,
then days grew long and time grew pale; my life began to cloy.
"O Death", I cried, "I'm ready now to leave this vale of tears."
But not an answer did he give, he did not seem to hear.
For centuries, or so it seemed I waited for that bourne.
Then after many weary years, he came to me one morn'.
He said, "This is the price you pay, thou tattered and forlorn
for turning down my quiet call to follow Life's sweet horn.
By all men am I welcomed if I tarry overlong;
but those who bid me go my way soon find that they were wrong.
If you are ready now my friend then we will leave this place."
And as he spoke a smile, sad, but friendly crossed his face.
I took his hand and off we went; to where I could not say.
I only know it's likeness, a realm of endless day.
Oh, friend, if death comes knocking, turn him not away
for fear that he will tarry when you are old and gray.
He is no monster, nor a fiend. A gentle friend is he.
Who only strives to show what it means to truly say, "I'm free!"