Is it lively? Is it dead?
Is it pink? Or is it black?
Is it like prairies in the Spring?
Or like a swamp during Autum?
How could you be sure
If it's end is ever so gentle
For all you know, it's as soft as ribbon
Which wrapped around a child's neck
Would lead to a man's death
Or as harmless as a bit of cotton
Whicha fellow has inhaled
And now makes the man shiver
Just once, twice, thrice, and is dead
So, if you please
Now tell me, exactly

What is life?