As He leads me through His playground.
To gaze at worn and broken stones,
All that remains of those who went before me.
Many names can no longer be read
No one lives to mourn them,
No record remains of their lives.
Under my feet are generations of past lives.
laughter no longer heard
sorrow no longer felt
success which matters no more
failures which matter even less.
Love gone forever...
All dust
He shows me my future
What I shall be a century from now:
A granite target for a bored youth to knock over
A convenient place for a wondering hound to lift his leg
A rest stop for a tired jogger.
All life comes to this:
Another anonymous playmate for Death. Rob Brents - rbrents@gwi.net
