As the passing sun rises in the east.
And life is but moment in time.
My eyes but watches the hands move by.
The clock so still, the breath so slow.
Darkness the wind doth blow.
Moving curtains to and fro.
The latch of the window not so tight.
The moon hung low in fright.
Laces and bows dawn the dress.
Tails and ties the suit does fit.
A putt and bang the car rounds the bend.
A happy day does begin.
Oh what woes we weep.
When we do not sleep.
The day is long.
The night so sleek.
The Old Owl hoots a warning.
The Raven sits a waiting still.
The Wolf howls at the empty moon.
The door shut tight against the wind.
What more does man think he can do?
The grave comes and takes him to soon.
The women cry and the children beg.
And not even the bells of Church can be heard.
Chime once more oh clock of mine.
For I think I heard the stroke of nine.
And if it comes day or night.
We will stand again the mighty fight.
The day is gone, the hole is dug.
And man becomes what he once was.
From the dust of the earth.
To the dust of the grave.
The reaper stretches out the hand.
The body then goes in the cold hard ground.
A marker is put at the head of the hole.
A name and date written in bold.
In years to come will pass it by.
Never to stop, look or cry.
For as time passes in a blink of an eye.
The memory of man passes in the light of the sun.
Today his story is told.
Tomorrow it is worthless even in gold.
Gif By: Unknown Artist 1997