One night Death came to visit me

And offered me a cup of tea.

I did not mention it was cold

And carefully sipped around the mold.

He sat himself in my good chair

And leveled me his deathly stare.

While the clock wound slowly down

I met his stare with equal frown.

The nature of his line of work,

led some to think he was a jerk.

And though, by most, he was considered grim,

in fact I found myself becoming fairly fond of him.

He spoke of those he had to reap  

at one point he began to weep.  

With a sob he did insist  

he knew these souls are dearly missed.