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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2212766
The main reason to really live is we eventually have to die.


One fine morning
A piercing baby’s bawl
I was born on a frosty morn
In the middle of the fall

One fine morning
I stood up straight and tall
A dreamer with a poet’s heart
I had no plans at all

One fine morning
At love’s beck and call
I fell in love
It fell to pieces
Her picture hangs on the wall

One fine morning
Feeling stooped and small
Old bones creaking
Slippers squeaking
Echoes in an empty hall

One fine morning
I won’t wake up at all
Life and death
Just part of nature
On this ever spinning ball

G. Gabriel
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2212766