a riddle while you wait on the bank for the ferryman: you will demand of me your freedom, but it is not mine to give. you will plead with me for mercy, but i was never taught it's use. you will ask me to see you as special, but how can you expect that of me, who have seen you in the eyes of a thousand terrified sheep. you will demand that i return you to my brother, to the light, and the soft green earth, but i can no more pass the river than you, now. you will ask me where, but i will not say. you will ask me how, but i will not tell. you will ask me why, but i will not break your heart. you will ask for an honest answer, but i will give you the one you want instead. you will sigh and you will cry and you will beat your fists on the bank of my river, but i will still greet you when you get off the boat. you will tell me i am not fair, but i will tell you that i am the fairest thing in all creation. what am i?
"death's riddle" - r. c. e.
