And we abandon compunction,

Give way to glossy black feathers and chitin;
Blessed are the centipedes and corvids,
Abounding with perseverance and playfullness.
 
So if you must, 
Lay me down again, 
Below buzzard tree and wormbit wood;
A place of rest and decomposition,
An incomplete blackening that’s never approached the second step,
Yet remains comforting and warm,
As a godmaw pearl.