Death

I wrote this after my dog died, which sounds silly but isn't it true that death is known to us all? Death is a friend...in an odd sense he looks scary but he's also comforting.

Death is a strange, familiar companion

Whom I’ve met oft in life.

He prowls the earth,

Clothed in a long black shroud

With soulless black eyes

And fingers like ice.

He steals from me those I love,

He’s a visitor whom I fear

Grief and Pain accompany him.

And I dread his coming near.

Yet Death is someone we all must meet

His embrace we all must feel.