The Reaper

Waiting for the inevitable
I’m just resting ‘neath this pine
Waiting for the Reaper
To put his boney face in mine.

He’ll poke a ghastly finger at me
And insist I come with him
So I’ll rise to my full stature
And do his bidding, grim.

He’s taken his time arriving
And I’m glad he’s been delayed
Because I’ve been given longer
To delay my being paid.

I know I’m due the wrath
That waits beyond the Reaper’s door.
We all must pay the fiddler
For the dance that went before.

I’ve drank my fill and tasted
The best of this life’s wine
And found it to be delicious
When I tried to make it mine.

But both wanting and possessing
Are two very different things.
Now I find myself convicted
And must take what the Reaper brings.

It is a good enough day for sleeping.
The clouds just sail on by.
I will wait me ‘neath this pine tree
Until the Reaper bids me die.