Death passed over us; a comet on return.
Inevitable as fire met wood does burn.
A little flame & ice lives in each of us.
Dancing in their battle throughout all life’s fuss.
Who sees his traveling star that’s granted reprieve…
Knows to make merry whilst it turns to retrieve.
For, lucky is the cuss that death’s scythe does miss.
Baffled at survival by a hair’s thin hiss.
Don’t dilly dally in survival’s account.
You’ve precious little time & blessings to count.
Something otherworldly has gifted some time.
Bounced off death’s dimension…life turns on a dime.
L.B.Stowe 