to give thanks and praise to the bough that breaks
under the weight of age and passing days
to the song of the swan when one's time has come
like passing clouds in the sky all must someday die
to falling leaves in autumn's shades the promise of
youth that fades under the winter's waning sun
the wind and snow of a life now done
like the tides retreating from tranquil shores
cold lips that draw breath no more
to the shifting sands of time lost
measured by star and frost
to scattered blossoms of spring this glory in which
we sing: o ephemeral passing life consumed in the
funeral pyres consumed in our burning desires
even these flames must expire
abiding ash and splintered bone
sodden earth and weathered stone
right of finality devouring infinity
works will come undone so as what we become
unknowing certainty of that which sets us free
to the end of days to give thanks and praise
