Life is quite the strangest thing,
In that it briefly comes and goes.
How long our each allotted string,
Nobody ever knows.

We arrive here unexpected,
And we're gone before quite done.
When and where being preselected,
For our short time in the Sun.

And though we think we have free will,
Most everything is set.
For all with which our lives we fill,
Is born of talent; luck, who we've met.

But even so, it's a thrilling ride,
Of ups and downs and turns.
And whilst briefly we from nullness hide,
Each a place in history earns.

Then alas the time which drives our days,
With its step-like tick and tock.
It's patina on our frame displays,
As if longevity to mock.

But nature does what nature should,
It's a story told; retold.
Her care would not, if caring could,
Year's wrinkles try unfold.

For new life; hope, its youth and beauty,
To be ever present joys.
We must proffer thanks; discharge our duty.
Yield to the end game it deploys.

Then only life remembers life,
Regret can't yearn once we're no more.
When the ceasing of seeming ceaseless strife,
Has behind it closed the door.