© Hannah Byland
Perched on death, Waiting to catch the breeze, In a golden cup, Of summer and haze, Death comes swiftly to, The little wanderers,
And to the guttural frog in the mud puddle. Fierce as the winds that howl, Across the gasping prairies, And the undulating river beds. Sharp as a dagger thrown, To an enemy's heart, Strong enough to survive, In the snow-swept winter, As the deathly wind rages through, The barren trees making the earth shudder. Beautiful death, Beautiful.