Death Be Not Proud Poem by James McLain

Death be not proud, though shadows loom,
Your whispers weave through the silent room.
The stars still gleam, the winds still sing,
And life holds tight to each fragile thing.

You claim the rose, but its perfume stays,
Lingering sweet through endless days.
You touch the wave, but cannot bind
The tides that live in the boundless mind.

Oh, Death, your grasp may chill the bone,
But hearts remember and love has grown.
You cannot dim the morning sun,
Or steal the fire from the star filled night's.

Though you may call, we do not fall,
For life is more than a fleeting call.
In every breath, in every sigh,
We bloom anew, though we all die.

So rest, O Death, in quiet room's,
Your pride is fleeting, and we still dream.