A frail and
brief thing
It is this
thing called life,
held together
by a tenuous faint line.
Love is high
in excitement
As lustful
passions do race
Yet even it
fades in time.
Eager days
of youth burns
Fast its
candle at both ends
With the
breath of eternity.
Through foresight
of experience
And wisdom’s
repeated play
The aged
reap the rewards of longevity.
If only the
most elderly among us
Could embrace
the vitality of
Bygone days
without death; what joy.
The sorrow
of regret is to miss
Clarity, before
embarking into
The harsh
lessons of the undoable.
The shame of
failure is that
Achievements
grasp are lost to
In the distractions
of the heart.
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