' The Path Of Life Is Death ' Poem by James McLain

Life's journey starts with morning light,
With cries and whispers, small and bright.
Each step we take, a breath we give,
In patterns woven, learn to live.

The spring of youth, so full of bloom,
With laughter echoing in each room.
The world's a stage, a grand display,
With dreams and hopes in bright array.

Through summer's heat, we forge our path,
With love and loss, with joy and wrath.
We chase the sun, we scale the heights,
We bask in days and cherish nights.

But autumn calls with hues of gold,
With stories shared and hands to hold.
Our pace slows down, our vision clear,
The end draws near, yet we don't fear.

Winter whispers in the cold,
With tales of time and growing old.
The snowflakes fall, a gentle breath,
A solemn dance, the path to death.

And so we walk from birth to end,
A circle closed, a life to spend.
The path of life, a fleeting breath,
And at its end, the peace of death.

For in the stillness, silence deep,
A promise kept, a final sleep.
The path of life, with joy and strife,
And death, the end of precious life.