Dear Doctor D'ath

No-one believes the diagnosis,
Heeds the doctor when he says
"There is a limit to your motions
And a restraint upon your days."

Others were told the same thing often
And lived to suffer aged disgrace,
Coddling the light with hands that soften,
Look life no longer in the face.

Others meet death, but not the one
Who day by day draws daily near
The moment when his will is done,
The time of his torpescent fear.

Others have not been brave about it,
Not ignored warnings, or resumed
The deeds their destinies propounded,
But idle, wasted, were consumed.

page 16

No-one believes the rare occasion
Hastens to claim with each brief act,
That the finale and the curtain
Falls on the disbelieved-in fact.

Or that what happens to another
Will in his instance same apply;
Buries his fear inside to smother,
Offers his life to make death lie.