My love of life, was just recently conspired...
As if by fate, this life was soon expired.
How was I to know...
That in this life of smoking cigarettes, makes you go?
Anything in life, can make you cease....
Even many cancers, may make you lose your lively lease.
Life is not, without a hitch...
At least, not until, you've been laid to rest
deep inside a ditch.
For on the morrow, that you feed....
The hungry bugs and even the worms in the weed.
Flowers and plants will swell as grow...
But in the end, we are nothing, but of the seeds, that we've sewn, as known.
Life is the flame that must be put out....
That is the certainty of man and God, that
we may never to question, as doubt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed, Sir Michael Jeffrey, we all have our Crosses to bear...how we hoist them, and carry them is what defines our motality, as well as what paths we are destined to walk on & past successfully.. Your titles are like the TENticles on that hungry bug....Looong & Awesome! FjR