The end is always near,

Death waits right round 

the corner, softly 

watching your approach

nearer than the second

before; 

Fear is superfluous:

for all that is born, will 

die one day; the jewels

you lust after

will glitter in someone

else’s ear.

The house we built, too 

will fall to seed

with the wind wailing

through the roots, 

abandoned, restless, 

and lost.  

I cannot give comfort

but I can walk awhile

by your side. And if you still

seek solace, let these lines

be the hand 

upon your shoulder.