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(With apologies to Emily Dickinson)

Death stopped by today.

I gently sent her away.

No time to die, I said,

I must make the bed,

wash my clothes,

mend my spirit, I suppose,

and comfort a friend.

And there is no end

to places I want to see.

So, Death, leave me!

Death frowns and sighs.

I see it in her eyes

Though sweet this soul may be

she will not exit gently into the light

without a feisty fight.

I cannot leave earth now.

I must weave my spiritual garment, I vow,

while I serve my fellow

man, woman, and child, I bellow.

Death soon relented.

How shall I spend it,

the extra, moments, days, years?

Surely without fear

of strife and flying

of life and dying.

There's yet so much to do.

So move along now, Death.

Shoo!