E N D
PA P E R
The lord is thy keeper until the grim reaper awakes from his sleep alone he goes and sows his seeds amongst the flock, then when it seems everything is coming up roses and the good shepherd dozes he closes in and the cull begins. The scythe does its swishing an act of attrition, stalking and stemming leaving stalks and stems in the lay of the land Let us not weep for those who then cross from wellness and life or sickness and suffering into tomorrow and the deep lifeless well of our eternal sorrow but rejoice and give voice as the living who escaped the dark caped reapers device. And as we then behold the souls turned to soil and to memory, foretold in the roles of toil and eternity as we too wilt why feel guilt, when the reaper’s creaking cart approaches, reproaches do nothing to prevent the loading from arthritic legs onto rickety wheels to then be trundled and bundled into the pit of times gone by As our life reaches its conclusions, forgone and forgotten our relevance rolls into yesterday and beyond, before we leave others bereaved and grieving is it so wrong to wonder at the whys and wherefores of it all? Is it wrong too to have fun on our run along the pathways of life and make sure when it is our moment to stumble we realise how pointless it all was and look back recalling not recoiling and with a final grin, slip over the merciless edge and die laughing?
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