Don’t Worry About Dying (a poem)

Don’t worry about dying in winter,

There’s a chill in the air anyway.

All pristine snow becomes

Grey slush, or quietly melts away.

Trees are either without covering, or

They’re cut down, or

They become fuel for fire.

Vulnerability is strong in winter:

Animals seek sleep and

Protection,

People seek warmth and

Validation.

Don’t worry about dying around Christmas,

When bulbs and hearts are bright.

All candles burn out eventually, but

We remember them by their light.

Don’t worry about dying in spring,

The earth will be damp anyway.

But leaves and flowers come after the rain,

The kept promise of rebirth after winter’s decay.

I’ll still feel you in the gentle breezes,

I’ll still hear you in a bird’s morning call,

I’ll still smell you in every colorful bloom,

I’ll still see you, because your presence touches it all.

Don’t worry about dying in summer,

The heat brings misery anyway.

But even when the sun is oppressive,

We still have to go outside.

But summer is also electric, so I’ll

Think of how you lived, not how you died.

The days are loud and sticky,

The nights are hopeful and balmy.

Summer will always mean your porch,

And two glasses of iced tea.

Don’t worry about dying in fall,

Everything is changing anyway.

We complain about how soon the darkness comes.

How often our treasured comforts slip away.

Creatures prepare to sleep,

We harvest and gather food.

We circle around our tables,

To decide what is good,

And we try to be thankful.

Some years are easier than others.

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