She half heard singing coming from the inn.
She turned, and left the inn, and took the path
And 'Brother Life, you lose,' said Brother Death,
'Even as the Lord of all appointed hath
In this great miracle of blood and breath.'
He doeth all things well as the book saith,
He bids the changing stars fulfil their turn,
His hand is on us when we least discern.
Slowly she tottered, stopping with the stitch,
Catching her breath, 'O lawks, a dear, a dear.