What is it?

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?