Death be not proud, though some have called theeThis was written by Rev. John Donne in the 1600s.
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so
For whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And doest with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
I don't mean this to be an entirely depressing entry, but I really have no clue how to make it less depressing. My father died on this day and every year I think of him. I usually miss him more around this time of year; this year has been a little bit different. But I hope he still knows I'm looking forward to meeting him in heaven someday...
Everybody I know gets a little sad around the days that someone they loved died. I hope you can all think of this poem and feel a little cheer in your heart - or at least be able to say 'screw you death' when you're done reading it.
Posted by 10lees at April 3, 2004 09:45 AM