Everything to end is made;
To impending loss well laid.
Passing life we most hold dear,
To waiting grave is drawing near;
The memories made in bliss,
Soon their fateful last will kiss;
For everything will fade,
On margins of borrowed time,
Mortal breath expires its rhyme;
Crescendos a note of woe,
Each jingle of mirth below;
Each day, howe’er bright and fair,
Draws each frame onward graves’ lair!
For the end is the aim,
And wear, and tear.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Moments don’t last, neither life. Cherish them with the utmost sincerity.