LAMENT OF THE BEREAVED

O death, why knock at my door whiles I merry?
Why at this scintillating moment?
How could you snatch my gay unawares?

Your mean disposition of choice needs a probe ; since you dock at my shore living none with hope but more with grief

Tell me how your grasp will last?
And tell me how soar it's stern stain will be?. For often, some times, some how

When you launch your journeys ;
To my humble abode. I sense your presence, benighted , and sometimes severe like now

But letting go,  as human as I am  I cling
To the very thing you need
Why dock at my shores Whiles I Merry?

See how your clutch has wounded me...

With this scar you've left me bleeding to the very name you are.
Why now whiles I merry - death?