Magnus Est Morte

In honor of my Grandmother, on the day she went to see the Lord.

Fulfill your days, don't tread in fear,
Brace for troubles to come.
Though wisdom grim, be what we hear,
Take it faith, with skip and hum.

That depressive word! construct with fire,
Shall futility be futile itself?
We cannot encase, protect or put higher;
But tangibles put on thy shelf.

Evasion! thy useless and pre-bent tips,
We wager zero to many in prolonged fight.
Lay down your soul, forgetting your fits,
What matter thy Condition, so the heart be right.

By Evan Gunn Wilson