And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;
And if ever there was, it led forward to life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward - nothing collapses;
And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her, it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
(extract from Song of Myself)