Death
I should not speak to you, but save my breath;
You take enough, so strike the word of death-
We living must be all that we can be
Without a thought for when we cannot see.
Let no distraction steer us from the course-
Beat loud my heart; rejoice in all your force.
Pulsating beat, red river’s constant flow
Is life and all that living things should know.
Draw breath with the most skill of artist’s hand.
Both storm and breeze, let these things understand-
Ride out the clock; glide on from day to day
With vibrant life and nothing else to say.
Though farce of limitation do its best
The living have the choice to be more blest.
Our stories are of life, what make us men.
And night? The time we’ll all be read again.
John H. Bidwell
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