Death Put Down His Scythe Today

Death put down his scythe today –
he left behind his hood –
he wondered if it wouldn’t serve
a clear and greater good

to sit upon some steps somewhere
and give the world a look –
a forearm resting on a knee,
a foot upon a book.

He took the guise of student –
post-graduate, Comp Lit –
lithe and sure at twenty-four:
serenely handsome, fit.

None who passed him had a clue
just who he really was.
But something knew: as, one by one,
the bees all ceased to buzz.

.