Each sun-ripened berry upon the stem,
A lusty gem, too soon is claimed by dust –
Aglow, is a ruddy, opaque emblem
Flaunting fire in face of winter’s disgust.

Thereafter, brave soldiers – these bright crimson spots
Collapse as mere specks of skeletal red.
Wrinkled old men, dying, deserted on cots –
Each life will flick – free! from a frozen death-bed.

Unceasing this cycle smiles on the world,
While life’s logic can’t grasp its own reason; 
Not comprehending why death was unfurled
And so frustrated souls cry out, “treason!”

Yet does this meaningless death-striking chord
Wield hope? Only Life can follow such a sword.