Through The Valleys Of The Shadows Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He slipped in when I opened
the outer screen door, to let
a bit of that balmy Spring air,
laden with pollen and bits
of indescribable matter,
inside. He didn't seem to mind
the stench of extinguished Gauloise,
stale John Boags and worn pheromones,
he just sat on the linen hamper,
flashed a mischievous grin,
and said, simply 'I'm Death, howdy'.

I didn't have the heart to inquire,
what exactly was his business,
or his 'mission', at this inconvenient time.
Supplies had run out and I was no Rocky,
which stands for Rockefeller, one of.
So it happened that not even a sprout
of a conversation ever developed,
cat must have got his tongue badly.

In a sudden subliminal fit of nervousness
I tripped over Gentleman Jack, teardrops
of Tennessee rolled onto the carpet,
swallowed up at once, stained, like my soul.
A raised eyebrow of silence spoke to me,
and without breathing or a heartbeat,
I became aware that all cranial activity
had, indeed, been not suspended but,
in the interest of a Universal Intelligence

had been extinguished and sent to the hole,
black hole that is. It was educational,
stimulating to observe the final moments,
and I was just glad that it had been deemed,
by those who are in supreme command,
that I was to walk with him, that fellow
with his mischievous grin, through the
valleys of the shadows, toward infinity.