I squinted through the swirling mist,
 Uncertain where I was–
My heart was throbbing in my chest,
 My senses all abuzz.

A figure shrouded in decay
 Approached me from the haze,
A massive scythe clutched in his hand,
 His eyes like coals ablaze.

"This cannot be!" I shook my fist.
 "I still have dreams to build–
The goals I've set within my life
 Have yet to be fulfilled!"

The Reaper wiped his mottled blade,
 Despoiled with earthly grime–
"A little late for that, my friend,
 For you've run out of time."

"I never said goodbye," I wailed,
 "Or told my family
How much I loved them, every one,
 And what they mean to me."

The Reaper tossed his head and laughed,
 A foul, ungodly screech–
"A little late for that, my friend,
 For now they're out of reach."

"I promise to be good," I begged,
 "Allow me to return
And loving others as myself
 Will be my prime concern."

The Reaper wrapped me in his shroud,
 Then 'round and 'round we spun–
"A little late for that, my friend,
 For you, this tale is done."