Yet, the living fear dying,
I fear not death nor dying,
Only that death may come with pain.
Thus I imagine death to be,
So much akin to sleep,
And though I care so much of living,
Will I care I'm dead when I'm dead.
To think of it logically makes no sense,
Life sometimes has no sense of logic.
With each day that passes by,
There is only logic in a breath;
Of living for the one thing,
That drives thy heart to sing,
Renouncing that which brings a tear,
Loving those, and moments that bring good cheer.
Thus I have no fear of dying,
Only fear of not living well,
And the marks left by my name.
I hope of them someone will tell,
At least for a little time;
And if my name be known for long,
Then I think that'd be divine.
Thus I will live on in eternity,
Even in sleep within a box,
When flesh turn into ash and bone,
I shall still be here upon this grove.
Rambling In The Muck
A Sonnet For Belle
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