It comes and goes,
Like a bird come the Spring
Flying fast or slow
And we can only ride the currents
Through it we go,
No stops does it take
No mercy does it weild
And we can only follow
It slowly runs low,
There is no curing it
It is not a disease
We can only age as it flows
Eventually it runs out,
We fall to the ground
No medicine,
No machine,
Can help us now
We die as we cry
Why must it always be so?
YOU ARE READING
Book Of Poetry
PoetryA simple book of poetry of various kinds for when I feel philosophical
