Death has never yet looked beautiful
As it does now
When looking upon the wintered cornfields
Or the lake blowing over frozen life
Petrified till spring’s thaw.
Death itself blows
Riding the biting winds to chill
The bones of the young and old
On the brink of eternal sleep.
Indeed death is welcome
Plucking each brittle leaf from its tree
Or inhaled, settled with the damp in the lungs of a child.
Death is wondrous, once said to be the only supernatural thing
We will ever know.
Quoted and sung, loved and nourished.
Death has never yet looked so beautiful