An old man dies, a baby's born,
Two cries are heard, they're so forlorn,
One cries for loss, the other gain,
And both cries stem from earthbound pain.
The end of life seems such a waste,
It did not come with undue haste,
Four score and four the years they count,
As to each other tales recount.
In birthing bed the mother lies,
Her cries of pain slowly subsides,
And smile creases sweaty face,
As in her arms the babe they place.
Life is ended, and life's begun,
Like setting and the rising sun,
As it's been since God created,
And continues unabated.
© 1999, Deacon Ed Faulk
If you would like to comment on this, you may send mail to me here. Deacon Ed