Updike: We need more worlds. This one will fail.
Entitled is each one of us to die.
Lifts Nature from us all weight; furls our sail.
Imagine if the opposite apply.
All joys foreseen, pains endlessly expand.
Centuries pass, long decades days become.
The endless drab sunrise, no longer grand.
Food, cohabit, ideas; all this benumb.
For nothing live, as living on is sure.
We savor only what we know must end.
If accident or sickness will not cure
Our wander, sui caedere final friend.
Dream you of endless Heaven, dreadful Hell?
The soundest tree must fall, bleed out its sap.
Accept; embrace, that last expiring knell,
A foretaste, daily twenty minute nap.
To live is grand but grand in brackets comes.
The final gift: all life starts, then succumbs.