Mortality is every poet's concern.
We ponder, consider, maybe wish to learn.
Death is a desperate man's last refuge-place,
a last way to save himself anguish, save face.
So have I thought about dying? Stupid question.
I've taken it both philosophically and as a suggestion,
But the point I come back to is so far life's given
Me a hundred ways to die, but only one chance at livin.
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