Passing Through. Poem by Graham Jones

Is life in passing such a paradise lost
When touched by fingers tinged with frost
Is not survival the driving force
On which we plan and plot our course

We look for comfort, home and love
And sometimes guidance from above
And when a loved ones snatched away
Its just to test our faith they say

The path is hard and tiresome too
With brief respite for favoured few
Though once conceived, the path unfolds
To weave its way to fortunes bold.