Wearied and wrinkled,
Death sighed and slumped.
"One is not so lively, now," said she.
"Perhaps 'tis time, 'tis my time, too,
to lay my cheek down and sleep."
A brutal life lived she,
giving nought but the final relief,
taking even the greenest leaf.
But how to go now, she couldn't say.
She supposed the best was the traditional way.
With heavy hands she wrapped and twisted,
'til a necklace she'd made and carefully lifted.
With her choker of rope, laid high in a tree,
she quietly left, and set herself free.
Now those that remain know not what's to be;
there is no Death, just immortality.