What bitter sweet, the air doth bring,

than when ‘gainst life, we feel death’s sting

Like Promethean theft, the fire is life

too good to be stolen, once given away

How ironic once lost, His name be cursed

the only Patron of Humanity,

yet still foul oath flow from apparent lack of charity

Why not ceaseless thank for priceless gem

undiscovered by souls who breath foul winds

While not forgot, nor lost without care

their souls go on, where best they fare

Whether appraised or accursed be His name,

Heed though timing be different, destination the same

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