For death is but the last glance behind
At the faded childhood shed.
To fear that glance is to realize
How much we long to hold on
To linger, to dwell,
In that which we love,
That which we call life.
To fear death is to love life.
For life is but the lovely summer’s night
Where we woo, making love to the delicacy of her essence
And be worried,
That she would be lost in the morning’s mist
And that our love would too be lost
In the mist which we fear,
The mist which we call death.
To fear death is to love life.
For why fear if we weren’t so attached,
If it weren’t so sublime?
