I walked in the hills by my home,
I heard a whisper in the trees and stepped closer to see,
A vulture talking to me.
"Do you think they know?" He asked as I watched him pick flesh from bone,
A carcass decayed and old.
It was a sickening sight to behold.

"It shouldn't bother you so." He said.
"The grass and trees. Do you think they know?" He asked again.
I shook my head, confused.
"Where the soil and nutrients come from in which they grow?" He asked

I listened to this bird as he scavenged from death.
I thought him mad,
But as he spoke I saw the wisdom of his words,
"Dead things come to grow and life never goes."
I watched him eat his fill,
And it was no longer ugly but a beautiful thing.

I walked away wondering if they know,
If any know how we grow.
From soil on mountain peaks to the river that flows,
Death is only fear of change from what we think we know.