Death has no friends,

He sits alone within the crowded room,

Knowing each will meet him soon,

One by one they have their turn,

At times together, usually apart,

The old, the young,

The sick, the healthy,

The rich, the wealthy,

Friend and foe,

Politician, lawyer, street cleaner,

Judge, prince, priest,

All await his touch,

He has no favourites,

And seems to ignore,

What's right, just and within the law. 

The widow flees her home,

Dragging her children in tow.

In a dark corner, the frightened child cowers.

Stained glass and candles melt away,

As the funeral pyre devours,

The bird has flown through this short life,

Where such is sold, such is cheap,

That you hold, you cannot keep.

At my Wake or yours one of us will sit,

Philosophising on life's abruptness.

Doctors working around the clock,

trying to save ultimately what they cannot.

The mourner's cry from an aching heart,

No word can be said in reply to that.

Alongside those whom have passed this way,

A hole is cut to hide decay.

Emptiness that's all, the book is closed,

A half written letter with no more thought,

Lays barren upon its forlorn port.

The old and sick await with their beds and chairs,

The young playing with life as with a game of fears,

Every sip tastes as tears,

With sorrow the cup is brimming near, 

Time is too far away for this heart to mend.

Without knowing that it was a dream it has come to an end.

No more will the post man call,

A pile of unopened letters lie on the floor,

Just beyond an unopened door.

A deep sigh is left to float amid the scent of flowers sweet,

Leaving is carried by the breeze just outside the taste of sight.

The bed is cold, the greys of life are interwove,

With strands of colours that faintly glow,

With lost memories of things past,

Like when first we met,

When we spoke last,

The laughter and casual joke.

The world sings, well, life goes on,

But you know, 'twill never be the same,

Shadows are longer, so is the night,

A flame that burnt bright is now put out.

These tears that flow are not just for this one loved,

But also for the long list that rapidly grows,

And for our names that one day be engraved below.

Briefly the door to eternity swings,

A glimmer of hope, a ray of light,

Then the moments gone,

The spirits flown leaving behind an empty cup, empty heart,

Farewell my friend, Adieu.

To meet this certainty how prepared are you?

When death comes slippin' thru' that door,

I would rather a mustard seed of faith,