Death, in her long, dark regalia
Designed beautifully to suit her pride
Walks with shoulder high,
Feeling beautiful,all knowing
Because humans find shelter
In her tiny pouch.

Should we ask death to be not proud?
We made her a long gown, a pocket
Which humans all find shelter in
And when death is bored, she
Puts her hand in her pouch
And out of it,comes one of us.

Death picks one, drops him down
And we all, left in the pouch of Death
Shed tears and continue the journey with death
Always remembering to pray that
Death doesn’t get bored again
To dip her hand in and pick one of us.

But please, remember that death is always bored
As she has no one to give her an attention
So once again,like before
She dips her tiny hand in her pouch
And out of it , like before
Comes one of us.

Bestowed with power and her beautiful regalia
Walks about with hands apart
Her legs wide with extreme pride
Because she knows we all
Lay in fear in her weary pouch.

This time around, like before
Death got bored once again, and
Put her hands into her pouch to
Bring out one of our very own
But can Death be questioned?
Can God be dragged to Court?.

This caught us unaware
But who do we blame?
Death’s boredom or God’s acceptance
For Death to succeed this time around?
With shivers down our spine and tears
Dropping from our eyes, death succeeded.

Please, Rest In Peace
Till we all leave Death’s Pouch
And at our Maker’s feet will we sit
Please Rest In Peace
Till and Till
We meet to part no more.

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