Death comes knocking on the door, unannounced-
a reminder to the waned residents.
Tho, itself, an unwelcomed guest that hounds-
lingers as the clock finally outruns.
Time allotted, yet shorter seemed the hours,
and fear that hovered, now grips the soul.
Life seeps out counting the fonds and the scars-
few memories and few tears will roll.
The act plays on after the curtain call
with a new chapter of an episode.
The director writes the script on the wall
in His language so filled with art and ode.
Tho now you are a body, not a name-
fizz may go but the fire will remain.