Sandman

Not yet death himself but still his very close kin,
his foreboding, ghastly figure so tall and thin.
Grinning and bony, with his yellowed teeth stained,
in ragged brown robes, leaving victims drained.
Creeping, creeping, in darkness without a sound,
utter his name and you will be next on the ground.
Hiding in nurseries and behind bed chamber doors,
crouching over men, women and children by the scores.
Always to remind that the sands of life are ticking by,
That with each passing moment we are going to die.
Lulling sleepers, in their practice for pending death,
as he awaits for his brother to take the final breath.