Sarcastic death, ironic circumstance:
The wit may be divine that’s also mean,
undignified or futile, and the dance
the reaper leads is not a noble scene.
Or if it is, its rareness makes it so –
heroic, tragic, borne as sacrifice.
The harvest gives the seedlings room to grow
and makes life precious at too high a price.

And maybe we like irony because
it parrots death but we survive its sting.
We cannot overcome our natural laws,
but we can try to laugh at everything,
and we can keep our minds and bodies firm
in hope that we’ll delay the little worm.