I consider the gateway of my death.
It is always before me, sometimes hidden by distractions.
There are periods I see it more clearly.
As of late the details of its appearance become more defined,
And the door opens widely and freely.
When will I pass through?
I, as with other beings, do not know this for certain.
Each moment brings me closer.
Let me prepare now.
I can almost feel the latch swing under my hand
And hear the rustle of the gravel as my foot starts over the stile.