That trowel shaped head,
Bulging eyes and lethal fang.
I have dreamt of a bite,
So hard my leg would break.
The snake would coil,
And watch me die.
If you dream you die,
It means you will.

Harold died.

He was my neighbor.
Our habit was to talk across the fence
On Saturday mornings after
He had come back from a long run.
He explained his running.
He said he would punish himself now
So that he could live-
You know--make a contribution.
He quoted some East Indian mystic:
"If you want to live, You must run."

He left a wife and two kids.