Death
It is with gentleness Death’s fingers close
The wrinkled eyelids of the old, and veil
Their eyes grown dim and weary.
‘Tis with stealth
She steals upon a child, tearing him from
His mother’s heart, and leaving it to bleed.
To Age and Infancy Death is not cruel
But Youth she tortures – Youth whose heart yet bounds
With hope and courage. There is no sadder sight
Than Youth with Death’s reflection in his eyes.
Margaret Taylor