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Being innocent, he dreaded that he died Hating his God, but what he was was plain: An old kind man brave in his burning pride.
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Some dead undid their bushy jaws, And bags of blood let out their flies;...
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"... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay."
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The old forget the grief, Hack of the cough, the hanging albatross, Cast back the bone of youth....
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The dust shall sing like a bird As the grains blow, as your death grows, through our heart.
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