Why      do you whisper,

     dear      Death, my Death?

Why      do you come so softly close and stare:

     what      kind of love is this?

When      evening flowers

    droop      on their tiring stems

When      the cows return to their sheds

     after      walking the field dawn to dusk

You      come on those so-gentle feet

     and      sit demurely at my side.

I      don’t understand the things you say

     dear      Death, my Death.