Birth and Death,
Both must man face.
For what in existence escapes the beginning or the end?
We plan for Birth,
Celebrating her with gladness,
Taking no notice of Death.
How jealous must Death be.
So, why are you in awe that Death exacts his revenge in despicable ways on Birth’s fruits?
Laying in wait in the shadows,
Springing in on the unsuspecting,
He gets the last laugh on Birth’s children.
But he doesn’t stop there.
His cold hands leaves a trail of ice on the souls of those he leaves for later.
Alas! They have no inkling.
For Birth warms them up with more of her fruits.
They soon forget death exists.
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