An Appointment With Death

That evening I was running late,
And tried to save some time.
I could not know I’d seal my fate
And be stopped in my prime.

While running out my house’s door,
I turned towards my car.
And there, beside a sycamore,
Stood something quite bizarre.

A hooded figure, thin and frail,
Was beckoning to me.
Across his visage draped a veil.
His face, I could not see.

A scythe was in his withered hand,
A massive wicked blade.
An hourglass with falling sand
Hung on a belted braid.

He held the glass up to the moon,
And peered into its walls.
“It’s almost time. It will be soon,
And then your last grain falls.”

I stumbled back a pace or two,
And screamed “This cannot be!
Why are you here?  Just who are you?
What do you want with me?”

The man removed his dusty shroud
And grinned a knowing smile.
“You’ve had much more time than allowed.
It’s time to face your trial.”

I tried to turn and start to run,
But then a hand of bone
Reached me before I had begun.
I then let out a groan.

“You cannot take me now!” I said.
“Why do you haunt me so?”
And Death replied, “My friend, you’re dead!
It’s time for us to go!”