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Her door was closed,

and Death simply opened it up

and walked in,

her life without sin,

she was sleeping,

Death was weeping,

he didn’t want to take such a saint,

the windowpanes were silver,

daylight had just begun to seep,

Death would continue to weep,

he knew,

he had to do what he had to do,

he stood there and watched her,

studying the gray in her hair,

her age is what brought him there,

there was no sickness, no disease,

she did everything right,

and God was pleased,

her saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth,

she compromised Death,

the soft grating breath

that was almost a snore,

Death looked at the door,

studied her some more,

instead of taking her,

he just wanted to lie down beside her,

he felt defiant,

somewhere inside it was making him pliant,

tender, soft, remorseful…