The path to Death’s door is busy,
joyous and tragic by turns

The threshold is ripe with expectation,
sometimes crowded with companions

Stepping through the door, running or
heels dragging, open-eyed

Beyond the threshold opens
to unknown wonders, great mystery

None can look through the door,
pass judgment, reconsider

Who is it that looks back
after discovery of a new world?

There was a time I had not yet tasted
ice cream, honey, fresh baked bread

Having learned of the sweetness of life
I could never forget or regret, go back

And so, while I am yet this side of time
I imagine my first taste of what lies beyond