That Bitter Truth Poem by Sophia White

Here we sit, in twilight worlds,
Staring at the umber sky.
We wonder at our fates and sigh
At our inability to move.
The sun is dying, that we can see,
It is old and tired and burnt-out,
Yet we can do naught but lie about,
Watch our sun struggle to breathe.
We are not like the bitter truth,
Which will go on after we end,
But like the grass that must bend
At the will of the wanton wind.
There is no purpose now, for us,
Once we know our own doom,
Our evanescent lives, our lasting tomb,
Unless we should cling to that bitter truth.