John Donne

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and deadfull,for,thou are not soe,
For, those, whome thou think'st,thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death,nor yet canst thou kill mee;
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more much flow,
And sonnest 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 than thy stroake;why swell'est thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shall die.

This is the first poem they put in my hands in med school...and it really made me think...
abt medicine...and our roles in the world..and thoughts of a similar vein...
The next post will be of a slightly less depressing nature:-)