As age takes its toll and our bodies fail.
by Brian Joseph Dickenson
The young sit around and listen to our tales,
Of days long past, when we were young,
And the world was ours with a song to be sung.
But time goes so fast, and with it us,
Expected to grow old without a fuss.
Too sit and wait, and contemplate,
What comes after the dying date.
What to expect when the last trump calls.
Do we really enter those marble halls
To stand before Gods golden throne?
Stripped naked, and alone.
Or is it beneath the clay we stay,
As our bodies rot away.
And go back wence we came,
Just part of mother earth again?