The Mystery of Death
No one really can explain
The mystery of death.
When someone’s time is up there’s just
That quiet final breath.
An X-ray, scan or bloodwork
Or the beeps from a machine
Give some stats to the physicians
But what does it really mean?
We’ll all arrive there someday
And, despite the circumstance,
We can’t refuse the Reaper
When he asks for one last dance.
So all the doctors’ test results
And autopsies combined
May not be quite enough to bring
That longed-for peace of mind.
But thinking of a life well-lived
Might comfort those who lost
A loved one whom into the
Great Beyond has sadly crossed.
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