death

Death, the silent thief, Steals life's light, Leaving shadows deep. A final breath, A fading sight, And darkness takes its keep. The reaper's scythe cuts wide, No mercy in its gleam, As souls are swept aside, Lost in death's cold stream. The living mourn the dead, Their hearts with grief aflame, As memories fill their head, And sorrow is their name. But death is not the end, Though hope may seem forlorn, For in the heart, love's tendril bends, And keeps the spirit born.