Heh, this is my first poem about the madness of death, and it was said to be very superficil, but what do I know, I'm fifteen. :)

The sweet, clammy hand
Of Death
Touches down upon her.
Her skin, once so pink
and fresh
is now lily white.
Her lips, gently pursed,
In the everlasting
Kiss of death,
The lost life of hers.
Her glassy, ice blue eyes,
Sweetly smiling in life,
Now glazed over in death.
Blonde, golden hair,
As flax now as
Cut grain, dying wheat,
Now as dead as she is,
Life of her cut short
When the stem of her
Flower was starting to grow.