Life, so precious, blooms as a flower.

In the spring we are as young spotted fawns.

Wily, sun-scorched summer is our prime hour.

Yet, autumn is most lovely when it dawns.

Winter, likened unto death, glistens so

That when we reach the very end, all clears.

Fond of memories shall see us mellow:

Heavenly souls' laughter shall reach our ears.

Fortunate are we to have four seasons,

Each to its purpose, a stage in our life.

Yet, often we question death without reasons.

We've but few years to complete in our strife.

By living life as impending death, take heed:

Yea, all that one does is all that one needs.

Author's Notes: Recently, a friend of mine passed away from overwhemlig internal injuries after being in a car accident. At the funeral, some friends and I gave her a flower arrangement with a charcoal picture I drew of an angel as the center. This was the poem I wrote below it.