Old, dark robes
The idle die idle. They treat Death, like a distant acquaintance, When Death is a guest permanent. It is in the room you just left, It hoards the few moments ago, And those soon to come. Death is a companion, Who must be at your side. You need not seek it, But should keep It close in mind. For Death owns all our former days, Ways we were and ways to come. So we must persist, And see our great work, done.