The Swan died in the cold alone.
He did not cry, he did not moan.
No one was there to help, or to postpone
The fatal day when he died all alone.

Humans die daily, cold and alone,
Wishing they could send instead their clone
To the fatal time when they die all alone.
Unnoticed they turn into hard stone;
Their dust into void is blown;
They vanish into thin air unknown,
In worthless deaths Heaven and Earth condone

R.I.P. : Remembered In Poetry.

© Brigitte Poirson

Day 1 | The Romantics Week
word prompt from Allan Edgar Poe's 'The Dream'

short bio: I have been a teacher in France, and a lecturer in Britain. I have published several books of poems  in French or in English. Some have received various awards.