Since Death Forgot to Take Me

Since death forgot to take me
I’ll wile the earth away,
And chase things that forsake me,
And smile at those that stay.

I’ll revel at this second
Birthing of my breast
Which devils hadn’t reckoned
I’d have at my request,

Nor angels, gaping wonder,
Had ever once foreseen:
My heart again as thunder,
My smile sincere, I ween.

And winter snows’ blank beauty,
And autumn’s glowing gasp,
And summers’ budding booty,
And leaping spring, I’ll clasp.

For all the world’s awaking
Again before my eyes,
And all her wines are slaking
Again my thirst and sighs,

And surely God does fancy
What He did for goodness’ sake,
When Satan’s necromancy
Was muddling its mistake

And death passed imperturbably…
Now sans fever and sans fret,
Completely sans hyperbole
I say: “I dead? Not quite, not yet.”

© 2017 Bruce Wren

 

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