Wilted Flower

I'm a mortal, born of woman
Full of doubt and full of trouble
I came up like a flower, now I'm wilted
With a gray beard of stubble

There is hope for a tree
Cut it down, it will sprout again
But when mortals die
What happens to us then?

Will the heavens open wide?
Will the dead rise again
And walk in a paradise
Unknown to living women and men?

When we die, will our minds
Turn completely into sand?
Are we good for nothing more
Than to fertilize the land?

Over time the...