Ofttimes, I yearn the frigid taste of death –
How sweet and punishing its kiss ‘pon me!
But like a maiden bade to wed, I wait
For death to come for me, rather I it;
For life is greed, lust toils, and hearts seek mates.
Yet, so oft dying allures, Life doth be;
And surely sure, I find more rest in breath.
Eagles soar in search
Of prey; of life to feed from
In freedom’s torn cost.
Do not be troubled; smile and frolic free.