Our Last Retreat

 Beneath the veil of starlit sky, Where shadows dance and spirits lie, The silent whisper of the grave, Calls forth the brave, the meek, the knave.

Upon this mortal coil we tread, With heavy hearts and fears unsaid, Each step a closer march toward night, Where ends our plight in death's cold sight.

Lo! Hear the bell that tolls for thee, A solemn sound, deep and free, It marks the end of earthly roam, And calls each soul to final home.

In gardens lush where willows weep, The silent dead in slumber deep, No pain or sorrow do they know, For time hath ceased its endless flow.

A king, a pauper, fates entwined, In death's embrace, all distinction blind, For rich and poor, the old and young, Must heed the call when life is wrung.

So drink ye life with hearty cheer, For soon the end may draw near, And when at last the night descends, Embrace the peace that death extends.

Thus, in the shroud of darkest night, Where ends our toil, our joy, our fight, We find in death a quietus sweet, A final rest, our last retreat.



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