It doesn't come on bended knee,
It often sneeks in silently,
Clutching the heart and last breath,
An unwelcomed guest known as Death,
In silent thought we know it's there,
Like a lion in it's lair,
Often quick but sometimes slow,
It's there waiting as we all know,
Not much to do but say goodbye,
To the ones it takes away on the sly,
Left to grieve the loss that comes,
When we know that Death has won.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem