O! Death, such a paradox,
The bards paint you dark,
A lithe reaper, cunning silver fox;
Extolled in awed snark.

In life, we waned,
From thoughts and recalls,
Over many summer and rains,
Hidden in sight until our fall.

Yet when you arrive,
Unheralded as is your way,
Cobwebs are dusted, memories thrive,
Unearthing tales tucked away.

In shadows we survived,
Till dusk shone a light,
Draped in white, we are revived,
Cast as Legends on our last flight.

Yet you remain obscure,
Unwelcomed and scorned,
A cursed and loathed cur,
Indulging our rituals adorned.

O! Death you are truly heroic,
Life’s hurt and fading memories,
But in Death we remain stoic,
Gone but remembered over centuries.

Footnote: People are forgotten for most parts of their lives, cast to shadows only to be remembered and exalted in their deaths. Everyone remembers a tale upon one’s death though no one had the time to sit and share a laugh with the living. Death dusts our memories, shines a spotlight on our past and creates new-found fondness for the departed, who Life simply ignored.