Begin the search for answers now.
My time grows short to find out why
Death took her and passed me by.
As if it comforts me to know
The answer. Death awaits us all,
And why Death comes and when’s obscure.
We catch the disease that has no cure;
It engineers our final fall.
Death, be not proud; the crop you reap
Is ripe to harvest. If the grain
Is still green you cut it down
Untimely. Mortal lives must stop
Because you pass along the way,
Sickle flashing left and right
Through days of sun and moonless night
We folk born of earth and clay
Bow before your final decree
Unwilling to come away with you.
Tell me what wise things I should do
To know why you took her, not me.