She is Death

She will appear, knocking with bony knuckles,

Singing darling murmurs, and enchanting those

Tough as nails, forget me nots.

But forgotten is all we’ll ever be.

Adrift in her jasmine voice, her solace wings

That cradle us as her own.

And now we are owned, collected

Like those before us. Like the strong-willed

Who boasted about evading her.

But meeting her is the last thing we’ll ever do.