Tag: beckon, death, die, doth, find, jest, numbered, philosophy, ride-the-wind, touch, whisper, wind

Death can ride the wind,and he can also walk the streets,looking for those listed,or those he accidently meets.A touch or a whisper,the smell of his breath,it’s what lets us know,he beckons that we’re next.And hide he doth find,in a closet or a chest,because our days were numbered,’cause death doesn’t jest.