The Watcher In The Grass Poem by Sheena Blackhall
The Watcher In The Grass
Some say that Death is old,
With hollow cheeks, and grey,
And that his touch so cold
Can wither in a day.
But I say Death is young,
He's lithe and full of grace
He turns Him round and laughs
To see Time in my face
In frailties I increase
So strong and tall grows He
The watcher in the grass
Of my mortality.
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5/10/2024 6:03:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Some just like that with snake eye's