. . . . . . . .and it all comes down to a little picture
chosen by someone: a tiny blurb of birth - death
chosen by someone: a tiny blurb of birth - death
a nice little quote, a few flowers, and a certificate
a box, urn, a catacomb - the end remains the same
a reintegration into the very earth claimed in deeds
how sad - i want to say. why fight - i want to plead
the end remains the same. & during the dash of life
the sand runs out - drifts into the ocean or made into
glass by the lightning that strikes each of us as each
storm strolls past awaiting the sun to hit & draw us
away
