Death and Tea

On a gray autumn afternoon,
death knocked on my door
with a serene smile. Without delay
I asked: "Come in, don't stay outside."

We sat at the oak table,
Death, in silence, observed the space.
I served the tea, very hot, in moments,
and death accepted, with a grateful gesture.

"Let's chat," I said,
Death nodded, "But about what, honey?"
"Life, dreams, everything that comes and goes too
and about how in the end, everything is lost, even the sky."

We talk about love, glory days,
fleeting moments and memories.
Death listened with remarkable calm
and between sips of tea Death and me had a story.

When dusk came, Death got up...
grateful for the tea, the conversation, the well-being.
Death said it was time to leave, to wander around,
and in the light breeze Death dissipated.

I stood there, thinking about the unusual encounter.
Death who came for tea and chat...
and I realized that in life, everything is borrowed.
Even death, which takes us as tea, sip by sip.