I have no plan to wait around for death.
Death, when he finds my door,
Will have to call not once but three times over.
I shall be somewhere doing something elseó
Inspecting daisies, maybe, on a hill,
Or combing through the weeds or counting stars
Or herding midges down a country lane.
These are important projects, after all,
Not lightly taken up nor laid aside.
Somebody has to keep an eye on things.
Who knows what petty thief is on the prowl,
Snatching a daisy here, a daisy there,
Or pilfering along the Milky Way?
Who knows what rascal wind assails the wing,
What alien armies infiltrate the grass?
In such a crazy, mixed-up world as this
Somebody needs to watch what's going on.
Death has his job to do, but I have mine.
He keeps commitments, but I keep mine too,
And one of us will have to yield a bit.
I come of stubborn stock
And may not heed his first nor second call.
Indeed, I may not answer him at all.