Poetry

A Life Well Lived

How can I die when I have lived?

For dying is releasing all the gifts

God has asked me to put on earth.

Each day, as I give back, I die,

And I do not even know it.

So that when the real death comes,

It is as light as a feather,

Sonorous as the singing bird.

I cannot die because I am living,

And it is in living that I am dying.

So that when it comes, I am free,

And my judgment be light.

Then I ask, on that day

Be it my body made dust,

And my bones ashened

Do not write painful exit,

Rather, a life well lived from 96

So that on that day, they will say

She died every day,

And today is for resting

Till infinity.

I will make each day my last,

That is how we must live,

From today.

— Jenny Daniel