“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.”
― Marcus Aurelius

In the twilight of my days, when shadows gently fall,
A wish I weave for my farewell, a tale to tell them all.
When I depart this mortal realm, to realms unknown I go,
In the embrace of village traditions, my spirit finds its flow.

Place me in the good room, adorned with care and grace,
Amongst the stacked blankets and pillows, in that sacred space.
Let kin and friends gather ’round, in the home where laughter roamed,
For three sweet days, in mirth and tears, where memories are honed.

Come, dear ones who’ve known my soul, bid adieu with love so true,
In the hearth of shared joy, where we laughed and toasted too.
As the village weaves its magic, let them revel in the cheer,
A celebration of my life, drawing near and ever near.

Stay up late into the night, beneath the starry dome,
Whisper tales of yesteryears, in the darkness, find your home.
Speak the words unspoken, let the silence gently break,
For in the quiet of our hearts, eternal bonds we make.

Jokes shall dance upon our lips, laughter echoing through the air,
Sip from cups of bittersweet, a communion rare.
In these final fleeting hours, let joy and sorrow blend,
These moments, my dear ones, are the ones that never end.

Raise your glasses high and sing, as tears may freely flow,
In the warmth of shared embraces, let the healing currents grow.
Drink to life and drink to me, for in these parting sips,
Our spirits intertwine anew, in the laughter that eclipses.

“Does it hurt?” The childish question had escaped Harry’s lips before he could stop it.

“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”
― J.K. Rowling

As the third day unfolds, my home becomes a shrine,
A sanctuary of shared moments, a place so wholly mine.
But time, unyielding, whispers in my ear,
It’s time to journey onward, leaving those I hold dear.

Rows of people gather, an assembly somber, grand,
Some bear the weight of crowns, flowers in their hands.
Those before me carry tributes, symbols of life’s bloom,
Behind, a solemn procession, mourning my final gloom.

No fancy car for this voyage, no metal steed to bear,
But a carriage from the ages, with horses strong and rare.
In winter’s grasp, a sleigh may glide upon the snow,
A timeless passage to the lands where spirits gently go.

Twelve pauses on the journey, like a clock’s rhythmic chime,
Each stop, a month, a chapter, marking the sands of time.
At every halt, a change is made, a coin to bridge the span,
A farewell for each moon that wanes, a tribute to life’s plan.

Through hamlets and valleys, my carriage moves with grace,
As people line the pathways, a mournful, stoic trace.
Yet, let not sorrow shroud the scene, nor tears obscure the view,
For I’m not gone but transformed, into the realm anew.

The horses’ hooves, a rhythmic beat, as though the snow we glide,
An ancient dance of passage, a journey to the other side.
Stop by stop, the landscape shifts, memories unfurl,
A farewell in the winter breeze, a changing of the world.

And as we reach the cemetery gate, adorned with quiet grace,
Let not tears obscure the vision, let not sorrow erase.
For beyond this sacred threshold, where the living and the dead entwine,
A new realm awaits, a continuation of the grand design.

With each step into the graveyard, let whispers softly rise,
Not in mourning, but in remembrance, beneath the open skies.
I enter another chapter, a realm beyond our ken,
A transformation, not an end, in the cycle of life again.

“It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.”
― Terry Pratchett

Beneath the weight of soil, my slumber deep and still,
The final chapter unfolds, as destiny fulfills.
The last shovel of earth descends, a solemn, echoing sound,
A blanket to cover dreams, within the hallowed ground.

The candle’s wax has melted, its flame now flickers low,
As darkness veils the landscape, where the silent shadows grow.
In the quiet of the graveyard, where whispers softly weave,
A moment of reflection, for those who chose to grieve.

Yet, let not sorrow linger, nor clouds obscure the sky,
For life is but a fleeting glance, a swift and transient sigh.
As you depart this sacred place, leave the mourning behind,
Return to the world of the living, where memories unwind.

Go back to your homes, my friends, embrace the days ahead,
The sun will rise again, painting the sky in hues of red.
Live a life that knows no bounds, a life with no regret,
For time is but a fleeting gift, a treasure to beget.

I loved and lived, I laughed and cried, in moments grand and small,
Yet, as I lie beneath the earth, I sense it wasn’t all.
The places, people, nature’s grace, visions left unseen,
Regrets rest beneath my head, like dreams that might have been.

But you, who still traverse this world, with time left to explore,
Remember life’s a fleeting flame, a chance to ask for more.
Cherish every sunrise, every whisper of the breeze,
For in each fleeting moment, a universe can tease.

Farewell, my world of joy and pain, of lessons learned and earned,
Farewell, dear friends who walked with me, as life’s tapestry turned.
I find my peace in quiet rest, within this earthen bed,
As you continue on your journey, remember what I said.

Live a life that never looks back, a life that’s bold and free,
For in the dance of existence, be the best that you can be.
I close my eyes with gratitude, a smile on my face,
Farewell, my world, I’ll rest in peace, in this serene embrace.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien

In the heart of the Romanian village, where traditions gently sway,
Let echoes of my laughter in the sunshine find their way.
As embers dim and fade, and dawn breaks through the night,
Remember me in tales of old, in the soft morning light.

In the bustling market squares and along the winding lanes,
Speak of the joy we shared, the triumphs, and the pains.
Let the village elders weave my name into their lore,
A thread in the rich tapestry, a voice forevermore.

Amidst the fields of gold and the orchards lush and green,
Let my spirit linger, in the beauty seldom seen.
As you till the fertile soil, or gather ‘neath the tree,
Feel my presence in the rustling leaves, in the whisper of the breeze.

When the seasons change their garments, from winter’s frost to spring,
See me in the blooming flowers, in the swallow’s fleeting wing.
In the summer’s warmth, in the autumn’s golden grace,
Sense my essence in the colors, a vibrant, living trace.

Tell the children stories of the days we laughed and played,
Of the times we shared beneath the sun’s embracing shade.
Let them know that life is brief, a moment’s fleeting breath,
A dance upon the earth, a journey to the realm of death.

And as you celebrate the harvest, and gather by the fire,
Speak of me with fondness, let the flame of memory inspire.
In the heart of the Romanian village, where traditions gently sway,
Let my legacy endure, as you start another day.

For in the tapestry of time, where threads of life entwine,
I’m but a stitch, a part of the grand design.
As the embers dim and fade, and a new day takes its place,
Carry me in your heart, with love and boundless grace.

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