Seems just like yesterday, when I was all the rage,
soaking up the limelight, hoggin’ centre stage.
Young, single ‘n’ carefree! Happy, happy days.
The wage of sin is death, my only crime’s old age.
How long have I got? How far to go?
I don’t know, but I’m on
Skimmin’ thru obituaries, four-score-years in twenty words,
to be pushin’ up the daisies, worm food for the early birds.
Almost ev’ry single week, a funeral and wake,
secon’-guessin’ who’ll be next, which-soul the grim reaper will take.
well they sent me here some years ago, when my aches turned into pains.
The last stop on life’s railroad, now it’s just a waiting game.
Good friends dead ‘n’ buried, when I was in my prime,
faded faces on old photos, bit parts in life’s pantomime.
All thought they were immortal, laughin’ loud in danger’s face,
rushin’ headlong to their doom but slow ‘n’ steady wins the race.
©25.10.2018 Andrew Robert Chapman
At night, alone,
I sometimes reflect, upon my lifetime’s work.
I was no saint,
nor-Devil incarnate, simply salt of the earth.
For what it’s worth ….
second guessing who’ll be next, which soul the grim reaper will take.
second guessing who’ll be next, which soul the reaper will take.
second guessing who’ll be next, as I masticate the cake