Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
Small bits of clay so fragile in arrangement,
That they briefly capture and hold breaths of life,
As they walk among other spirits in this physical world.
But the mighty and meek all share one thing in common,
On this journey we make to a grave destination.
The cost of life is life itself and the debt will be paid in full.
When the dun is levied and satisfaction demanded,
Breaths will be counted like coins, and as the coffers fill,
One by one, the debt will be retired.
Only the memory remains to remind us,
That our note will soon be due;
That the owner of the field is coming for his rent.
His reaper’s ears are deaf as stones,
As they scythe the field before them.
Pleas for mercy are never heard over screaming blades.
The debt is owed and due on call, and so they labor on.
The stubble of days and years pass under their feet,
As they cut their path across the headed crop.
Breaths are harvested and the bundles tied and laid upon the ground.
The tally is squared and one by one, the debt will be retired.
Today your debt was paid in full, tonight you sleep forever.
At dusk today I will give you back, to the earth that lent you to me.
Beneath the wild rose on the hill out back,
Where you laid and watched the cattle graze.
A place you would remember seems a fitting place to rest.
Your life was hard but your spirit never faltered,
With crippled frame you bravely faced all obstacles before you.
You lived life full right to the end, with a heart few have.
A good friend, a faithful friend, a best friend, a loner like myself it seems,
I would walk past a thousand men to spend my time with you.
I’ll see you in my dreams at night and when my debts retire.