The Sisters Death and Night

For each night’s sleep is a little death

When the Sisters enter, arm in arm,

Smiling gently at each breath,

Wondering which of them will charm

The soul to dream or travel on?

And if at dawn the sleeper stirs,

Death nods to Night, cedes her downfall,

On this still morning she defers

To Night who knows Death conquers all -

Death whispers soft, ‘Anon, anon.’

A small amount of plagiarism – I had not realised I had used Arthur Schopenhauer’s words in the first line, or a variation of them, until I thought them rather familiar and researched them

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