my death approaches a silent dagger, an illness a tonne of steel, glass and rubber a dream of never waking I care not which. I await it fetched me not when I was pregnant with promise and good will nor in my hours of darkness when for its visage I prayed rather it tarries for a time that feeble and decrepit I shall welcome it but I'm judged no fairly each eve I surrender breath - ritual of forebearance an offering nightly rejected each eve I recline, ready fast in faithful premonition yet still does death pass me by rejecting my allegiance rebuffing my presentment ye scarecrow! that for thine vanity these lines alloweth me to pen hearken! I shall wait for ever for what is dead may not die and thy claim is forfeit [17-II-15]