I
As the scythes of Death had reached upon my lips,
rotting saps of life fade away.
Lost was the life bequeathed upon me -
buried under the white snow.
II
As summer's prance shall soon succumb
to wretched knives of Death that soon will come -
Beauteous flowers blighted with their shallow breaths.
Succumbing to its fate were it hard to feign.
Forgotten whilst beauties fade,
In lost graves were where the withered laid.
III
Youth be prevailed over pain,
as by spring; winter forever be slain.
'Tis the eternal joy of spring that n'er degrimes,
prancing in Paradise unto the looming cut of Time.
YOU ARE READING
ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ
PoetryLife and Death; Joy and Sorrow. They're just two wings to the same body.
