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.