Death with a scythe came to the blacksmith and asked him to sharpen the scythe. And so he sharpens his scythe in horror, thinking that Death had come for him.
He sharpens and says: “I can’t believe that I’m holding in my hands a weapon that mowed down so many people.”
And suddenly Death jumps up to him and says: “I didn’t kill anyone, not a single person! It’s not me, but you who kill each other and blame me.
I used to be a beautiful girl. I met the souls of people and escorted them to their resting place. And today I put on black clothes so that the blood on me would not be visible. I put on a hood so that the tears I cried would not be visible, because I cannot stop this horror of your hatred: these wars and blood, and so on. And today I am an old woman. You made me like this."
Death said, took the scythe, turns and leaves.
And then he quietly asks her: “Why do you need a scythe then?”
And she says this: “The road to heaven has long been overgrown with grass.”