There’s an old man waiting,
I know he’s there,
In early morning fog;
Or trees that bare,
He waits for all.
Not only me,
We can’t see him,
He’ll never flee,
But I know he’s there,
And will always be,
An old man waiting,
For you and me,
For some are young,
For some are old,
When our time comes,
When we are told,
The time has come,
To take the last breath,
He’ll be waiting,
An old man called death.
B.J. Ayers
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-man-death/
