A Few Steps From His Dug Up Grave

The undulating pine trees try not to weep as they really should; they hold the tiny, slowly falling raindrops, sensing the mortality that turns him cold without a sob, without tears, and standing a few steps from his dug up grave: he expresses much sorrow for himself, for the agonies that'll follow... accepting such an irreversible fate! Thereby, his bones without flesh, will rest peacefully and forget death; long is their wait...showing no haste! " Oh, wait...hopeless one, don't rush your final day, compromise for more time instead; frighten not: no burning incense is placed on the marble tray, no flowers are bought, neither is the casket! " That's the ghostly voice shuddering him, and from which nearby grave it came from? Is it an angelic one suggesting a sigh of glee, or a demonic one asking for some hefty fee? What a thrill is to be given more serene days; and what a pity is not to heed a life-saving advice! He's turning around to continue this journey twice; he'll embrace his dear ones who started to grieve and tell them about his brief encounter with death beneath the droopy helm; hasn't celestial favor spared him from the agony of a dark realm?