Can death be this flamboyant?
Can a finale, this bold?
Does age not pale,
and wither the old?
With brazen audacity
they face winter's cold,
rubies sparkle on garnet vines
ambers fleck with gold.
I smile at such promise,
for fruition of life's manifold;
it is not yet my time, to glimpse
truth or eternity behold.
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