the stranger arrives,
his voice almost remembered,
his smell like rain,
and something else.
his soft insistent knock
rings like a bell,
his hand on the knob...
can you hear?
the sound of his footfall....
tis but death come knocking...
he brings no baggage.
will you open the door?
Eric Cockrell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tis-but-death/
