Death Is A Foe

Death is a foe to the wise,
You wait for it and agonize;
It spent its energy in a week,
And we died all along with cheek.

The foe is death who speaks,
In the mouth and ear it leaks;
Fortunate are the dice we throw
To ward off death like the snow.

Flooded with tears, we expect
That its door be opened to collect,
Us from the unhappiness of time,
Us from the agonies of crime.