In Death Poem by Danny The Dreamer Boyd

In Death perhaps the thinking mind might rest:
For having held such sweet old solitude,
And drunk the finest nectar ever drawn,
Reclined in those wide open arms of earth,
And fretting not another death or birth,
And dwelling e'er an endless dark or dawn:
Based on where you in life have strictly stood;
Perchance about but being bad or good,
It's not! In Death all moral sense is gone,
And nothing truly has a single worth;
In Loss at last all long lost souls can berth:
In peace, despite the streams of tears so yon,
And harping on foul frames, yet rosy-hued;
In Death this abject life's at—aye—its best!