The dying line is a thin line in time on a snow bank,
Drooping head with gray eyelids covering golden rimmed eyes,
Softly rattling breath as life’s essence slowly dissipates.
The living line is broader … in sunshine, garden grubbing,
Flocking with kin on roosting bars, nesting for eggs and chicks.
But you say, it’s just a chicken; nevertheless, life has a pattern:
Broad strokes of lines for living alive, talking, singing, dancing,
Families working, playing, challenges, changes, champions.
The dying line also intervenes … shortened breaths, sad farewells,
Brief ugliness drops like bright blood on the snow to melt in time.
But the broadest line of all remains filled with shared memories …
Irrepressible, eternal memories of gratitude and love.
Dying is a thin faltering line when spirit and courage prevail,
Live and love well to die briefly to remember well forever.
Annemarie Berukoff
