A poem by the Dutch writer P.N. van Eyck

the gardener and death

A Persian nobleman:

This morning, white with fear, my gardener flees

Into my house: ‘Master, a moment please!’

Out in the rose-beds, pruning shoots with care,

I looked behind me. Death was standing there.

I gave a start, and sought my getaway,

But glimpsed his hand that made as if to slay.

Master, your horse, and at full tilt I’ll ride,

Ere evening comes, in Isfahan I’ll hide!’ –

This afternoon (long since he off had set)

Amongst the cedars Death I also met.

‘Why,’ I inquire, since he waits silently,

‘Did you my servant treat so threateningly?’

Smiling he said: ‘A threat caused in no wise

Your gardener to flee. I showed surprise

To find still here and busy just the man

This evening I must fetch in Isfahan.’