A celebration,
An end of a life,
Be a joyous one?
Young and old alike,
However be the shape,A last breath is one,
Always to be mourned.
The stamp left behind,
By the fading soul,The one last time,
Of doing what is done.
Even a hunter of yore,
Mourned the hunted,Survival be it for,
Even that’s duly grieved.
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