Across the clock stands Death, a skeleton that strikes the time upon the hour.

Death stood alone, watching the wheat dance in the wind.

The physician then turns the king in his bed so that Death stands over the head.

Death stood impatiently over the land, waiting to count his last few pilgrims.

Death and burial stood at the center of communal black activism during the 18th century.

Death was standing at the head, and the boy lived.

Again Death stood at the head, and the boy was cured.

Death stood at the window of his dark study, looking out on to his garden.

Death stood with the third glass in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the play of light across its surface.

Death stood with his skull on one side, as though listening to some inner voice.