The Girl Who Didn't Know. Poem by Marius Oosthuizen

A girl sat writing in her class,
Watching the quiet minutes pass.
Her pencil moved, her head bent low,
While sunlight warmed the desk's soft glow.
But through the hall a shadow came,
A silent figure with no name.
No one saw him cross the floor—
Death himself passed through the door.
He searched each room both near and far,
Until he found just where you are.
There in the class she worked alone,
As if the day was still her own.
She looked up slowly, filled with fear,
For suddenly the man stood near.
His coat was dark, his face was pale—
A quiet ghostlike drifting veil.
'Why are you here? ' she softly cried,
'Why do you stand here by my side? '
He raised his hand without a word
And pointed where the streets were heard.
She walked and looked through glass so wide,
Where flashing lights shone bright outside.
A crowd stood still upon the street,
Around a form beneath a sheet.
The shoes she saw, the hair, the dress—
The truth arrived in cold distress.
'That girl…' she whispered, voice so small,
'I never reached this class at all.'
Death took her hand so calm and slow,
'There is a place we both must go.'
They walked away through fading air,
Past empty desks and silent chairs.
And in the classroom still and gray—