Young Man's Funeral - Poem by John Anderson
A grey haired man in his 70s; hiding the spring in his step
A thriving man in his 20s; except he is dead
And as I sat in the crowded room
hunched shoulders; an air of doom
'It isn't fair, ' someone said
As if only a senior were ever that were dead
The spry codger felt guilty for being old
Like he'd stolen years, or cheated a toll
And no one asked did the kid smoke or drink?
'Cause he was far too young, was all we could think
But as I listened, looking like I was praying
I came to realize, none of us will be staying
He wasn't robbed, for years aren't guaranteed
At this point I realized a life has no deed
So I try to recall this person we lost
but also the way that I approach the day's cost
So when my mystery time has arrived
When not another day have I survived
People won't think of that...
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