Encounter

I met my death as I was walking
And we greeted courteously.

While we strolled together on the way,
We talked of the past and all other things.
His manner was both fair and subtle
As we kept close company.

Then as we walked through the cold and barren plain,
I turned and asked if he could explain
The unkind rumours that I'd heard
Of this kind and thoughtful man.

With a smile both small and gentle,
He asked me if I had not seen
How often men do accuse others
Of the things that they themselves do wrong.

The things he's accused of are quite laughable.
For with the dead all things are impossible.
It is only life that causes pain.