The Triumph of Death

In this version, Death is a winged skeleton in the clouding sky.

He holds an hourglass in one hand and a long, sharp lance in the other.

It is poised to skewer a fleeing girl, her arms outstretched, her eyes on him.

They are in the middle ground, with sunny hills and a quiet town in the distance.

In the foreground, close to the front, a well-dressed couple sits conferring.

She glances toward the fleeing girl, seemingly undisturbed.  He averts his gaze.

Apparently lost in reverie, another seated woman inspects her lowered wine cup.

Behind some rocks a couple snuggles amorously, or perhaps does more.

Wherever you choose to look in this disturbingly calm scene, you can imagine

Death standing somewhere behind you discretely admiring the art.