A painting by Klee hangs over my bed,
Man, rake and sphere frame a sinister head.
A cornered pilgrim digs into the clay,
Hello Mr Death, have you been long away?
I balance my sphere in the palm of one hand,
With fingers unseen I sprinkle my sand
I tilt two blank eyes and peer into you,
The pilgrim with spade knows not what to do,
But he's found what he knows, alas the poor fool,
Delving in clay with his skull-shaped tool,
He shovels up a face with a twisted grin,
Death holds up his sphere with a light therein.
See its blue orange glow? It's the pilgrim's soul
Which trembles and balances, about to roll
(the pilgrim's head is a round black hole).
Death holds up the sphere on a waiter's tray,
No eyes reveal his profound dismay,
Yet a rake is suspended over Death's own head
Death, thou shalt die is what John Donne said.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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