Do not pretend the close of life is neat,

For grief so veils and blights Eternal Day.

Hope, hope to rise through Final Death’s defeat.

The men of medicine suppress and cheat

The needed, painful touch of husk’s decay.

Do not pretend the close of life is neat.

Death men an industry they make of heat

And burn our bones for profit in the fray.

Hope, hope to rise through Final Death’s defeat.

Blithe men ignore the end that they will meet,

 Neglect the kingdom violence bears away.

Do not pretend the close of life is neat.

Some men of anger stare with rage replete

At empty darkness, so that never they

Hope, hope to rise through Final Death’s defeat.

The enemy at last has power if we may

Believe half-truths alone, and not both say:

Do not pretend the close of life is neat;

Hope, hope to rise through

Final Death’s defeat.