When ...

The thousands of the millions
Growing like the grass
Again, again the planets spin
Quick the seasons pass

Grasses soon are dried and gone
Though grass may sprout again
Once-dried blades will not return
Nor their place regain

Soon will be forgotten
Everyone I knew
While the galaxies rotate
New regions into ...

If its true - all that we are
Is an elegant mistake
Why then worry fret or care
Why then trouble take

If your bald insistence is
That after final breath
An ending to existences
Lies behind the door of death

Then there is no reason
Nor rhyme to what we do
And there is no season
When we may live anew

And it does not matter
That new grass has to grow
If but we may be fatter
And rich before we go

Petulance and primal greed
Is easily excused
Sating each imagined need
Lest we die refused ...

Solomon looked up to see
The circles in the skies
And pronounced life vanity
For man that quickly dies

Who would dare to argue
Who would dare to chide
When looking at the tombstones
Of those that recent died

Brief to be remembered
Perhaps a tear falls still
But not for stones forgotten
Fallen on the hill

And the grass between the graves
Grows each season too
Replacing what the sexton shaves
Sprouting, tender, new ...

Yet death shall end and greed shall pay
Pay for what it took
And all shall answer in that day
The keeper of the book

Each sacrifice that was made
All advantages forsook
Are treasured up to be paid
Written in the book

When at last the book is read
And all receive their due
Then the favoured wakened dead
Will bid death adieu

And laugh and live and love and give
Worship to the one above
Who decreed that man should live
In token of his endless love