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Poetry

The Summons

RJW Bevan

Death remembers
our name.

He comes in time
to the right door
and knocks once.

He knows that
we are inside.

We cannot refuse
to answer
his summons,
when he demands
our reply.

We go out
to meet him,
dragging our feet
slowly
and awkwardly;

moving
in an unaccustomed
direction,
as though
we were walking
for the first time.

He is least
forbidding
to those who are not
afraid.
The children
go to him most easily.

 

RJW Bevan