My last drink of life

In the tavern late one night,
as I sat, sipping at my mead,
a person of sorts,
with a big brown cloak
came to squat next to me.

"Stranger..." he said in a voice rough as stone.

"I have always stayed in the corner,

never making a move,

spying at patrons from 'neeth my hood,

but you I have never spied nor seen before."

The man obviously wanted trouble

and I really did not wish to give him any.

I scolded my brew with one final swig,

picked up my feet and got ready to make haste.

Just as I stood ready to leave

I saw a flash, a glimpse,

dagger pulled from sheath.

Before I could react the steel met my breast.

I staggered and fell connecting with the ground

with such a force that all of mankind must have shook.

The darkness fell over me

and I felt a deadly breeze.

But I stood up,

and watched, and saw,

a lifeless corpse,

stone dead on the tavern floor.

A hand touched my disimbodied shouldier,

so I spun around and saw Death

and he smiled as wide as the heavens

and so did I.