With Death By My Window

With Death by my window,
I slumber in his shadow,
He yawns and coughs,
spies and waits
for the wheel to grind to a halt,
the water to slow to a trickle,
the shadows to cease their dances
and the dinghy to be adrift.

The clocks have struck,
the bells have rung,
the hour has come,
I hear him at the door.
The hour has come
for a rue laden heart to
to ponder the eternal verities.