by Mehaffey

Are we not great and grand?
For the way our life is played,
In pursuit of thousand things.
How much have we acted upon,
And boasted with eloquent words?
And How great was the circle of kin?
Between the beast alive and slumbering God,
Have we not become a man?
But desires are live waves,
And we are all on top of it,
Are we not swayed like a raft,
And crumble in this fleeting chariot?
Deriving pleasures from our senses,
Never to turn back and see our root,
What an agony is the old age?
But who can foresee the action of Time?
Where are the cherubin faces of the yesteryears?
The soul flees, the body degenerates,
Are we not given a sandy laurel?
Alas, Oblivion is the ultimate.

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