Star of the East, give us kingly birth;
Star of the South, give us great love;
Star of the West, give us quiet age;
Star of the North, give us death.

Gaelic prayer

I find it interesting that there is no adjective, no modifer for death. Such a simple poem, this, with such intricacies built into its four easy lines that it instantly found a place in my poetry notebook. And yet it continues to amaze me how people dismiss it when they read through, skimming over this tiny poem and moving onwards to the longer and therefore naturally more eloquent pieces.