on the death of levet by johnson
One day is not the same,
it differs from day to day
when age and health enter
in decaying portals, we lose hope
and comforting chair;
my friend was my philosopher, guide
and care taker;
sincere and short tempered,
he was my physician, looked after me
in all times; equally i repaid the same,
in dire necessity, i took care of his needs.
When Death prepared his times,
he accepted with demure;
unaffected by seasons and chill,
unmoved by inwardly corroding misery,
spending his days busy and peaceful night,
in equal proportionate temper most ,
he the octogenarian, now in his cot,
sleepless ,moving to and fro,
coughed and longed for water,
drank in slow sips, closed his eyes
for the last, his Soul journeying for better days.
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