Short Poem: Mortal

They die, you know, they always do,
the mortal ones below;
but dust you see, which settles soon,
returns unto the earth.

All toil here, nothing besides,
then every man must die.
We work to eat, we eat to work,
and sigh when it is done.

They lie forever in that sleep
while we stay conscious still;
Into the earth their corpses fall,
not knowing that they’re dead.

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