It’s true, death has jaws.
Ten nations wide,
Snarling like
Tomes torn in utter tedium
Like stars rising and falling through the millennia.

But life has arms.
Strong and weather-tanned,
A village builders, heaving bricks and stone into heaven.
Soft as thou mothers breast,
Caressed by your fathers hands,
Suckled in infancy.

Be embraced by these arms, and in the culmination of solemnity,
Set your lips to the beauteous jaws.