Death beckons us all
It is like change
Always present
Always a little frightening
Sometimes sad
A little threatening
Whomever you think your Maker is
Death will direct your soul to him/her/it
Whether you think you ascend to the heavens or
Become nutrient for trees
Each abiding just waiting
Life a living
Too much to bear
Too little sometimes
Through it all, I’ll hold your hand
I’ll be there
I’ll hold your hand
I’ll hold your hand