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O now have Peace my delicate Flower.
Your strength, it passes within the hour.
The Head of Death hath risen in dread.
Immortal breath has been its stead.
Your head hangs limp. Your leaves are ice.
Death, illogic, strives to suffice.
The head of Death mourns gracelessly.
It strives forever its own death to see.
Your petals are heavy with tears from the skies.
The Willow doth offer to dry up my eyes.
Death, itself, has more strength than I.
Your courage, Dear Flower, has come from on high.
Now Life and Death converge into one.
An old friendship lost to the whole of the sun.
Now Dark and Light together must live.
Inseparable mates with nothing left to give.
But Life and Death cannot become one
'Til Life gives up all, and Death has won.
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This poem, and many others, can be found in the extensive Libram at
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