(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

How Did You Die? (By Edmund Vance Cooke)

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight-and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

By Edmund Vance Cooke

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Comments (1)

The ride is not a smooth one at all. Yes Poet, our passion always wants a moth to fire for its smoothness and natural longings. But cruelty of life sometimes like the burns which we don't want to be witnessed, yet fire spreads to make us homeless without prior indication or information. So no chance of risk and adventure play any part there, simply happenings draw a big zero on the canvass. Write more Poet, LIVE LONG Regards, 10++ Apoet Bangla