Meeting Death Poem by Ima Ryma

I am a woman, old and gray.
And now I'm terminally ill.
Here in a hospice I will stay
Until death comes, and soon it will.
I'm more curious than afraid
Of how death will turn out to be.
Ninety years ago I got made,
Maybe I'll be made a new me,
Pop up in a new time and place.
I gaze out in a gasping breath,
Whatever's next, now soon I'll face.
And sure enough, I gaze at death.

A handsome young man's standing there.
So where he takes me, I don't care.