When the final breath escapes a trembling chest,
And silence falls where heartbeats once thrived,
Do not mourn as though all is lost,
For endings are but veiled beginnings.

The oak, ancient and wise, crumbles to earth,
Its grandeur surrendered to time’s patient hand.
Yet from its decay, rich soil is born,
Feeding saplings eager for the sun’s embrace.

The fallen beast, returned to dust,
Nourishes roots stretching deep and wide.
Blades of grass sway green with life,
Whispering gratitude to unseen sacrifice.

In fields where crops wither and fade,
Their husks fold into fertile beds,
Welcoming seeds with silent promise—
Life cradled in the arms of death.

Even the ocean, swallowing fragments whole,
Gives birth to reefs, teeming and bright.
Ashes scattered on restless waves
Find new forms in shimmering tides.

And so it is with us,
Each farewell a herald of rebirth.
The stories we leave, etched in time,
Root themselves in hearts yet to beat.

Do not fear the waning light,
For dusk cradles dawn in tender arms.
Life moves without end—
A sacred circle, ever turning.