There is but one thing,
That all humans fear,

Yet nothing we do,
Slows dreaded advance.  

Yes, death is the end,
No comfort in that,

But life is therefore,
More precious, more pure.

For us that will die,
Are luckier still,

Infinite lives lost,
Never to be lived.

That we do exist,
Is reward enough,

And better is now,
Than all time before.

Our time here will soon,
Come to darkest end,

And yet before then,
Life still has its time.