Death is a child, made of bones;
Later it becomes wild stones.
It’s a dirge that all must learn;
While the body is taken to burn
The place not on earth to trust,
We are all just merely the dust.
Mourn after shade dispels dark,
Absorb within we fail to mark
How soon our days decay;
Bearing grief our lives away;
Thirsting drought of our souls;
Where the same story unrolls,
In love with vital last breath,
Birth is death
Death is another birth.
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By Williamsji Maveli

Email:williamsji@yahoo.com