Alas!
Many men you have taken away,
Like a Pirahna its prey.
They could not fend against you,
For the might they had not.

We shall all go through that vestibule
To the world beyond
For so it was ordained.
But you are not amaranthine.

For after your transitory victory
In smiting men
With your ostensibly irreparable sting,
Soon,your death shall come.

And your preys shall come alive
At the Maker's call,
To bid you, adieu!.

Dear Death,
Don't be conceited,
You too, shall die.