Our fleshly tent is so fragile. When the blood stops pumping, the heart stills, the last breath exits, the body is only a husk. Temporal, feeble, weak, our flesh goes the way of the grass, burnt under a hot sun. Snap, life is over. It is the soul that is strong, eternal.
Death Comes Soon to All
Man who is born of a woman
is few of days and full of trouble.
He comes out like a flower and withers;
he flees like a shadow and continues not.