It’s true we come to nothing in the end,
As dust returns to dust when life is done,
And what this life is, who can comprehend?
A mystery proceeding from the sun,
Its energy contrived to animate
Mere lifeless clods, inspiring the inert
To grow in consciousness and ruminate
On its superiority to dirt.
But soon our little cycle is complete,
Our blaze of luminescence gutters out,
The victory of life ends in defeat,
We never understand what it’s about.
And yet we had the chance to seize each day,
Which nothing, no not death, could take away.