Nobody Knows When That Day Will Come. Poem by David Grant Sinclair

nobody knows when that day will come,
but he arrives all the same and cares not when
the clocks will all stop and dancing be done.

he answers to no god, no man nor woman.
he has no time for apologetic lies,
though taking more time than can ever be sum'd,

he is your true brother - more so than am i
of flesh and blood and bone as you.
death whispers in your ear to see through your eye,

'til seeing death abound is all that you do -
all that you can do. for naught are you to blame;
yet the ticking has not stopped, no dancing yet through.

dear sister, be brave though your soul feels lame
and tender. comfort yourself with my love and remember:
your life is still yours and death cannot gain

one ounce on love though he tries to asunder
life - so few ever win save his companion the wren:
a craven who flies when love comes to conquer.

yes, death arrives all the same and cares not when;
but he comes not for you today, my dear,
dear sister, take my hand and dance with me 'til then.