In Death Equal Made

Cinders from no holy tree may leave proof— How hoary upon earth was once their spell, Nor dust would demur if it came from roof Of hallowed church, or stray chunk ere it fell; Or if the dust was blown off a tiny Burst of breeze or by a world-wind in spate, No warden would vouch for its pedigree, Nor would a priest predict its sublime fate. Hushed up lie all dusty graves stony mute, As might the ash of a funeral pyre— If it peeled off a prince in regal suit, Or off a pauper that died a death dire; For, death cometh equal in gasping breath, Levelling all— if not in life, in death! ___________________________________________ Sonnets | 01.11.11 |