‘Tis a most erroneous debacle

The plight of man and animals

Versus Father time, the immutable,

And Death himself, transmuter of souls.

Their struggle is not only in vain,

but elicits such unnecessary pain.

The sooner one sees there’s little to tame

He’s free to play along in this game.

Dare they not fret any weapon,

And be frozen in anticipation

They will freely dance along in elation

Around the scythe of immolation.

Forgetting they are on a stage.

Embracing the act of being engaged.

‘Tis a requirement to maintain their sane.

Loosing themselves in order to regain.

2 May 2017