I wonder what it must be like to die
And then I think "oh what a foolish thought:
Death cannot be experienced - 'tis wrought
Of that which passes all the senses by,
And makes them useless. Dead men do not lie
In wooden caskets; they cannot be sought
Even in filled graves; nor are they brought
By hearses thither - only flesh does. Why
Ask what it's like? The concept is cannot be:
There is no likeness, for there is no mind
Left to explore the consanguinity
Between it and a feeling. Just a rind
Is left: the dead are not, feel not." And so
I guess at that I'll never get to know.
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