Sweet Vegan Death Poem by Mary Champion

I watched the grim reaper approaching.
As his scythe swept across the overgrowth
I smelled lemon thyme and musky sage.
Butterflies scattered on dainty wings
fleeing the coming cataclysm,
scattering like wretched refugees -
escaping a bloody battlefield.
Ruthlessly, relentlessly he swung
the heavy blade, slicing woody stems -
the keen edge flawlessly efficient.
Not a single stalk was left standing -
all around the dead and the dying.
But no stench of putrefaction here-
just the sweet fragrance of fresh cut herbs.