At the Last

There is no denying
That it matters little,
When through a narrow door
We enter a room together,
Which goes after, which before.
Perhaps you are not dying:
Perhaps—there is no knowing—
I shall slip by and turn and laugh with you
Because it mattered so little,
The order of our going.

This poem is in the public domain.

About this Poem

“At the Last” originally appeared in Grenstone Poems: A Sequence (Frederick A. Stokes, 1917).