Mask to mask the scent of death

Bird of prey and herb filled breath

Heavy steps and heavy leather cloak

Solid in form and passing like smoke

Through a city brought to its knees

To fight back ever impending disease

To cure or to count the dying and dead

In desperate hopes to halt the spread

Hired by all to serve rich and poor

Hear him knocking on every door

Cane in hand to touch from afar

A barrier like his clothes to bar

Least he as well should collect

From all those who infect

Quarantine is his to face

No god among the human race

Job of bravery or of payment

Simply a man beneath the raiment