Death.
Every second, a soul he takes,
fear and grief, he makes.
Who is this demon of doom?
Surely not one thing can take life away from it's bloom?
It is Death himself, everything, nothing, ugly and beautiful,
He is true to his word, he sure is dutiful.
But why, I ask does he feast on life?
For all it brings is worry and strife.
When we're young, we fear,
To think of such a terrible creature is enough to bring a tear.
When we're old, we embrace,
We're ready to meet such a demon, face to face,
None can avoid him,
only a fool would try to skim.
Now, only one thing I ask,
why does he hide behind the mask?
