(EULOGY Cont.)

What humor it must be
to Death
When we
find out we have
but lost
Another mile
We must
Make back
And when we find
From off the bier
the weariness of
a life

With friends or what
We learned the last.

Solves nothing
But our joy.

“Give up!”
Thus speak the traitors of
Our lives.
“Grow tired, old and

“And be no menace to us
“Now whose life
“You threaten with
“Your breath.”

A placid far
And unreached day
’Twould be when I
laid back and let
The song of death
Bequeath me tortured
Miles I must face up again.

I live.
And Death?
Then Let Death die!

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