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Youth To Death by John D Sheridan

Who has need of you, fearsome Death?
I am young and the stars are shining.
Keep from me with your fetid breath
Bony hands and that ever-whining
Never-satisfied lustful cry:
Seek the heavy and burdened head
Bowed and ripe for your harvest dread,
I will not die!

Pass me and leave me; the wind is sweet,
Larks will sing to the sun tomorrow
Youth has no friend in a winding sheet,
Youth has no tryst with death or sorrow
Lower your scythe and pass me by
Take as lover decrepit age
I will not leave my heritage,
I will not die!

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