Death numbers its fold, none
are told. Spinning its dial all
'Tis fate, too late, there is no debate.
Each goes where death dictates.
Faith states otherwise. Death in its
resolution knows of none. All must be
undone. Spun back to where all began.
Neatly excised with its scythe. No one is
ever apprised. The last breath taken is
when all expire.