I guess my friend, you as well as I must die, dumped under a stone in dust
And all our deeds and beauty stand for in vain over our eternal beds
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect young constantly thinking heads
This body of yours and mine; of flame and steel, before the gust
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'In spite of all my love, you will fall to dust or to the sky arise'! Beautiful explanation of the way life turns to death without our welcome or invitation, leaving us to fend for ourselves in the end. Wonderfully beautiful poem, Nero! Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn