The night is cool and the wind doth sing
A breezy ballad for a king.
“You preside over your domain –
A royal life that lives in vain.
But Death shall come to all that breathes
The air that stirs the autumn leaves.
Though you may be a king, you’re old
Death shall come to exact its toll.
He shall come to take your soul.”
“But royal’s rare,” said the unwise king.
“To life’s whims we do not cling.
Death shall pass right over me
And I shall remain – royal and free.”
“But years do pass, royal you may be
You cannot live for eternity,”
Whispered the wind over the sea.
And the years did pass
Though he was royal.
Rings in trees multiply and coil.
‘Till late one night Death came to visit.
Unmerciful, he was quite unpleasant.
Then the unwise king lay in his bed
Blanketed in earth of a dusty red
“I told you so,” the retreating wind said.
