=Letter to a Friend= a sonnet

When I think of my coming date with thee,
My oft' thought friend whom I have yet to see,
I tremble with anticipation, free
Of fear; Imagined flights of what must be.

How will you look? Oh, would you recognize
Me waiting there alone, my pleading eyes?
What words you'd speak, some way to break the ice,
'Fore you bear me o'er to sweet paradise.

Ah, if I could foretell what'd come to pass,
What need have I then to meet thee, I ask.
So let Fate decide, leave the gods to fuss
O'er our future meeting, our first and last.

I write to thee now with what time I've left-
Perhaps we should not meet so soon, dear Death.