The Way That She Is Made

She’s afraid of the little things,
like the little pings and dings
but not the big things,
like death’s sting.
“Why?” she wonders.
Does she just blunder
on through dangers
that roar and thunder?
Is it because death
has been, more or less,
a constant companion
in this game of chess —
a sudden devastating eruption?
Has it been her guide
through this bumpy, earthly ride?
Tell it like it is
and let the chips….
Possibly.
But perhaps not just cliched quips,
perhaps a certain confidence
that love lasts
beyond the grave
and that integrity now
is what others see as foolish
or maybe brave,
but which for her,
simply, is the way
that she is made.

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