Treasure Island

Jacques du Lumerie


Fin Du Temps


Our children's children
Are all we sing for
In these black fields
Of loneliness.

They are all that matter now
We realise,
As we carry our little bundles
Onto the edge of eternity.

Each one of us remembering
How beautiful death can be
To a dying man.

Submitted: Saturday, February 14, 2004
Edited: Wednesday, March 17, 2010

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