Colin F. Jones

EACH IN OUR TURN

Each in our turn we face our end,
Cloaked in a mystery we don’t comprehend,
For we are still as we were back then,
When we were a hundred and nearly ten.
But the framework piece by piece defaults,
For the gnaw of time just never halts.
Though the scaffold grows firmer as we near,
No signs as yet that it will disappear.
That all those hopes and dreams seem kitsch,
Like the candle flame of a vanquished wish,
That gave us hope and a joyous smile,
To help overcome the relentless mile,
That led us to this trails end,
Cloaked in a mystery we don’t comprehend.