Oh, Death

A dangerous thing—

Courting one’s death.

The sweet whisper—of Wintergirls;

Angels—Tempting us—to Fly—

Soar to Sirenum Scopuli.

“Renounce the Spirit of Death”—

What I chose not to do.

That Spirit remains—

Enchanting—what might have been.

Along came a Singer;

Along came a Weaver;

And then—came you—

Another who had stood

Out on the Edge—Wait for me—

If I take—one more step—

Welcome your death—

He’s always waiting—nearby.