Watch rot what once was living
When its thread of life is first cut,
It is without blemishes
Life itself has sustained a connection between all functions
Then death blight creeps slowly over it,
Like a plague which vanquishes all in its way
Soon the matter will be completely
Enveloped in a dismal grey
Brown and black: its odour will abhor;
Most unsightly; with none of the vigour
That once made it proud
From the day a child is born it must live
Day to day with its afflictions
Until a certain age that child will smile;
Then one day it realises everyone is despiteful

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