That sleep from which our loved ones do not wake
That drift into nothingness, that silence everlasting
Death takes, and leaves a mere shadow of each self
for us to place words in Memorium or urn upon shelf

An urn that, even if emptied of that ash
into a blaze in home hearth grate
would not as a glorious phoenix
our lost loved ones reincarnate

That sleep from which our loved ones do not wake
that drift into nothingness, that silence everlasting
that Death in all its arrogance our loved ones
for its own perverse satisfaction takes