For Lynne

For our bloggy Flock pal Lynne, who's suffered some very hard losses lately. Many people don't know much about poet John Donne, whose verse is often quoted. He was always a man of faith, having been educated by Jesuits as a child. He wrote secular poetry for the first part of his career, but he later entered the ministry and spent the rest of life writing religious works.

This is one of his best, and I dedicate it--especially the last two lines--to you, Lynne.

"Death Be Not Proud" by John Donne (1572-1631)

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,

And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,

And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.