the children
      they dance with their death carelessly,
      take it by the hand to the river
       and let it swim free

the men and women
      they grapple with their death angrily,
      duel with it in a meadow
      and wrestle it into a pocket they can't see

the white-haired wisened
      they smile with their death peacefully
      walk as old friends
      down the autumn road to the sea.