At the Last      by Witter Bynner

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.

“At the Last” originally appeared in  

Grenstone Poems: A Sequence (Frederick A. Stokes, 1917).

Public domain.