By Andrew R. Duckworth
Death stays waiting
For journey’s end
When people are torn
From solemn friend
And immortality can’t be attained
And raw emotion can’t be restrained.
So it was in a land in the east
Where a wild man came to dine at feasts
For the King of Uruk after friend was won
And restlessness from nature done.
And on many a journey those two went
And wrath from the gods was sent
And Enkidu, the wild man, died
While Gilgamesh stood in his pride.
Death is a thing that, when we see
What can come of you and me,
We cower, like a fearful hare,
When Death can come from anywhere.
But Gilgamesh wanted to live,
Filled with fright that Death will give,
But, in the end, we go away,
One and all on our chosen day.
When Death comes,
On my chosen day,
If I’m young
Or if I’m old,
I’ll tell him he can have my body,
But he cannot take my soul.