LIFE

I wonder what it's all about, and why
We suffer so, when little things go wrong?
We make our life a struggle,
When life should be a song.

Our troubles break and drench us,
Like spray on the cleaving prow
Of some trim Gloucester schooner.
As it dips in a graceful bow.

Our troubles break and drench us
But like that cleaving prow,
The wind will fan and drys us.
And we'll watch come other bow.

But why does sorrow drench us
When our fellow passes on?
We just exchanged life's dreary dirge
For an eternal life of song.

What is the inborn human trait
That frowns on a life of song?
That makes us weep at the journey's end,
When the journey was oft-times wrong?

Weep when we reach the door
That opens to let us in,
And brings to us eternal peace.
As it closes again in sin.

Millions have gone before us,
And millions will come behind.
So why do we fight
At a fate both wise and kind.

We hang into a jaded life
A life full of sorrow and pain.
A life that warps and breaks us,
And we try to run through it again and again.​