Death bears a lonely face
And seldom ever leaves a trace
Of what once used to be;
That of you and me.
Death, when it appears,
Brings sorrow, pain and tears.
You know they cannot stay
But must forever pass away.
Death, can kindness bring,
Wherin every living thing
At last will find surcease.
And, by this gift, find peace.
So, carve a marker, bind a cross,
On my poor form let earth be tossed.
Then pray a word and say it well,
Lest this proud soul should enter Hell.
For when I go I’ll cease to be
What once was a live and living me.
And in the earth my form shall rest,
Reposing in my land-locked nest.
My soul set free, at last may find,
That death is really very kind
And not the tyrant cruel to me,
That all thought him supposed to be.
So carve a marker. Bind a cross.
Enter the Land where Death is boss.
And as you slowly lower me,
Mark well the spot where my soul went free.
By NINA C. FULFORD