I wondered in my shallow years
how I would know it was time to die.
My youth marked it the least of my fears
but now I know, I confess with a sigh.
There is a bothering in the bones
they seem too wear-weary at the core.
The mind, too, signals aberrant tones
the time is nigh, Reaper’s at the door.
Then there is a flickering in the breast
like the flame of a candle burning low.
The signs read as one: eternal rest.
Grudgingly, I conceive it’s time to go.
What I wondered in my shallow years
my body now exhibits in carnality grim.
Leaving behind all I love brings tears
Will anyone ask, “What became of him?”