When you will die

Will you die in the hope of Spring
Maybe in the hope of a summer day
Perhaps in the crisp air of Autumn
Will you die that way?

Having died over a hundred times
Each time my heart was broken
There was absence of a eulogy
Flowery phrases went unspoken

The ones who did their damage
Most often it was a man
The axe chops then forgets
While the tree bears scars so never can

Death takes so many creative forms
Each day each time you cry
Every breath you breathe you never know
The next time in small ways you will die