A life without death is not ended
Its story can never be told.
Not all whom it knew and befriended
Not all it had learned growing old.
The sun rises slow on the dim world
Where opened the eyes reveal not.
Till sky with light gray is faint pearled,
And eyes lamp the brain, birthing thought.
And morning is gone by the noonday
Rather more often than not.
The westing sun crimsons a laneway
And most that we’ve seen is forgot.
But all do remember that sunset,
More gorgeous than all gone before.
We know this for certain that sunset,
Of which we know there’ll be no more.
A life with last breath is not ended
Its story is yet to be told.
By all those that knew and did friend it,
And loved it, though they too are old.
Paul C. Maybury Jr.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/without-death/
