A place of fancy and grandeur, where

no man has set foot, untouched by time.

This is where your resting place is,

where your flower petals will come to a stop

where your golden leaves will wilt

back into the earth, rich with the touches

of morning dew and evening cloud;

Softly caress the wings of a butterfly

and bring time to a standstill,

enliven the world and drown the sorrow

of the universe in the palm of your hand;

Your wings are made of flower petals

Your shoes of gold leaves

handcrafted by the master goldsmiths

of the Valley of life and death

Their weathered fingers deftly pressing

the mold to the precious metals

Decorations fit for a king, or a queen

The water hisses as your blood flows

inching beneath the surface and cascading

down to the falls of the center of the earth,

where beams of light filter through

the great vines of the netherworld.