There are too many poems with the word

Death, death, death, tolling among the rhyme.

Let us remember death, a soaring bird

Whose wing will shadow all of us in time.

Let us remember death, an accident

Of darkness fallen far away and near.

But, being mortal, be most eloquent

Of daylight and the moment now and here.

Not to the name of death over and over,

But the prouder name of life, is poetry sworn.

The living man has words that rediscover

Even the dust from whence the man was born,

And words that may be water, food, and fire,

Of love and pity and perfection wrought,

Or swords or roses, as we may require,

Or sudden towers for the climbing thought.

Out of the beating heart the words that beat

Sing of the fountain that is never spent.

Let us remember life, the salt, the sweet,

And make of that our tireless testament.