Would I know him if I saw him?
If I passed him on the street?
Would he be cold and dressed in black
Or would I think him rather sweet?
Would I like him if I met him?
Would he understand?
The only one in all the world
Who would ever hold my hand.
Would he be angry and derisive?
Would he laugh, and only scorn?
Or would he be kind, and remember
All I’ve been since I was born?
Would he tell me very gently
When it was time to go?
Or come on me abruptly,
And steal me — like so?
Will I see him there with me
When I stop drawing breath?
Or will I even recognize
When comes mister Death?

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