INTIMATE STRANGER
by John T. Baker
I knew his face, I could not call his name,
Though often if but briefly we had met.
Intent upon my vain pursuit of fame,
I found this stranger easy to forget.

Quite unexpectedly he'd reappear,
Unwelcomely disrupting my routine;
I'd hear his step and know that he was near,
Content to wait outside, remain unseen.

He then began to come round more and more;
Each time he would a little longer stay;
Until one day he knocked upon my door
And came inside and would not go away.

And thus it was that with my final breath
I did at last recall - his name is Death.