Death may be
ageing
But he still
has clout
But death
disarms you
With his
limpid light
And he's so
crafty
That you
don't know at all
Where he
awaits you
To seduce
your will
And to strip
you naked
As you dress
to kill
But death permits
you
To arrange
your hours
While he
sucks the honey
From your
lovely flowers
Harold Pinter
April 2005
