Time's a cruel-hearted bastard.
Nature's a cold-hearted bitch.
Both will surely wear me down,
and scoff at my last twitch.
From the day that I was born,
Until the day I die,
They push and prod and poke and pinch,
and dare me to defy.
Their hand is cold. So strong and sure,
Unwavering to the end.
The grip so firm and dry as bone,
Shows neither feint nor bend.
The fool does fight this fate so sure.
And what is gained to win?
A toll is paid for each new day,
A toll of pain and skin.
A hint of joy a balance brings,
We can the hand endure,
And maybe in the lap of love,
Embrace what is so sure.
So day by day we fight to live,
Though shackled we may be.
Bear the touch of time with grace,
and yield to what must be.
(c) Copyright 2022, Greg Sanders