Death, to me, is a stranger;
I know not his whereabouts.
I’ve seen him but haven’t heard –
I know of him but we’ve not met.
He spoke at length with my elder
And convinced him to go.
I got to say good-bye before
He left, but of Death, I don’t know.
He seems so popular among
Celebrities – distant and queer.
With the sickly, too, he throngs –
Too important to come here
Although once, without persistence –
Death did rap upon my door.
I was busy – I did not answer
So he left a calling card.