The Reaper is my neighbor now; he lives next door to me.
I see him out my window as I sip my noonday tea.
No scythe, no cloak, nor tail nor horns; a plain and honest sort
Aware that his profession is a business not a sport.
He moved in on a desperate day, the sky was full of snow;
I helped him tote his household in and made the furnace go.
We worked the day long side by side with purpose and good cheer,
And dined on cheese and crackers, and he handed me a beer.
He offered then to pay me for the labor I had done;
I said he’d paid me years ago, and labor was my fun.
He thanked me very kindly and he thanked me very much
But did not proffer handshake, so of course we did not touch.
He lives a modest life, and mows his lawn and does his share
And tends the flowers at his door with more than passing care,
As if he means to transplant them upon some future day
To places of his choosing, there a long, long time to stay.
And if he’s oft away at night, what care is it of mine?
He is a gracious gentleman, and that suits me just fine.
He makes no stir, he makes no mess; bytimes he clears my walks;
And our back fence is a forum for occasional quiet talks.
He knows my family all by name and wishes them good health;
I could not have more pleasant fellow chosen by myself!
His patient gentle smile is given for no recompense,
The same I’ll see the day I clasp his hand across the fence.
For death is not a punishment, and death is not a cheat:
It is but smooth transition, and in no wise a defeat.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have much to give and get;
My neighbor waits the fence for me, but I’m not ready yet.
Glenn A Schultz Sr. 2-19-05
(1941- 8Jun2005)
