Yesterday grows longer and tomorrow
far too short. I've no more time to borrow
and soon all my debts will be past due;
Life's a mortgage none of us renew.
We move from these houses, leave behind
all our suit-cases, packed with a blind
eye to death's reality. There's no
luggage carried with us where we go.
What I have, I give to you my friends;
Share it, pass it on, before life ends.
Stephen Brooke ©2004
An exercise in rhyme, mostly, brought on by a few remarks in a writing group. I find this sort of thing almost too easy; facile language, facile thoughts.