On Facing Death

I stood with Keats upon that lonely shore,
when I had fears that I might cease to be,
and looked with him as far as I could see,
and gathered dreams and memories to store.
The sunburned land Mackellar loved, her sea,
and Henry Lawson’s Mallacoota Bar...
all out of reach as any distant star
for me, except through books of poetry.

To lose it all? As though a storm had swept
the world and me a resolution formed,
and in the Keatsian sky bright starlight warmed
my heart with hope that has not failed. I’ve kept
to my resolve. Death will not do the deed...
I have so many poets yet to read.