Death
This body must decay and die. I look at these arms, these legs, The smell of my body, Perhaps for the last time, everytime.
I awoke as if from a deep sleep. A jolt of bells, A bolt of light. I looked at my hands in fear and wonder.
Adieu! Sweet fingers, Farewell! Fond thumbs.
Brian Routh
SourceLicence:CC BY-ND 2.0