At the end

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When old comes and strips me of my youth
And time's incessant marching colours grey,
What gifts will life bestow me, else this truth;
That from death's path one cannot turn away.

And facing fate then, how should I appear
To others - workmates, family or friends.
Should they all see me, eaten up by fear?
Such action will not save me from my end.

Enthusiasm has the same effect;
In that it gives us no more time at all.
So act - or not. Or if you wish, reflect.
For each of us, the hourglass sand must fall.

To some, death is a very final act:
The reaper ceases all and seals our fate.
Belief for others, binds them to this pact:
Reunion with those gone before awaits.

To each of us death comes - that is no lie.
Don't look for comfort; I have none to give.
But rather than obsess on how we die,
Our time would be best spent on how we live.

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