Toll Not My Bell

For some is death

A distant dream

Like riders warring,

Grim and bleak,

While others fear

Its stealthy tread

Or whispered breath

On withered cheek.

 

And some are torn

And some lie still

To cling to warmth

In love's embrace,

And some are born

To hold the tapered

Candle to

Another's grace.

 

Who rolls the dice

To score the card,

Who spins the orbs

In endless space?

What hand will set

The border bounds

Of planets in

Some poet's face?

 

And once my sand

Has trickled low

With weary lines

That others spend,

God grant the strength

To leave some thought

From such of life

I've never penned.

 

David Lewis Paget