Dance Of Death
Death has taken me out for a swing.
At first I didn't drop from the quickstep
In his dance and clogged right along
Until he drove the tempo up.
How swiftly was I pulled into being
The jumping jack, the dancing chicken,
Becoming nothing but a scream to God
With no hope of what He was thinking.
Then Death lifted me up high and spun me
Into the sky so God would be pleased with him,
For he doesn't take what God doesn't give.
But suddenly he let his catch fall,
For in the alphabet of the first silence,
God has just two words for him: Not today!
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Comments about this poem (Dance Of Death by Franz Werfel )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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