The End

Lately I've realized that many times when friends gather we talk about the various ways in which our bodies are failing us. Parkinson's, cancers, several forms of arthritis, heart defects. No one uses the D word, but it's the elephant in the room. These discussions remind me of a bit of doggerel I wrote five years ago.



While Watching The Progress of Hurricane Rita

Stalled on the tracks
Or caught in the eye,
Sooner or later,
We’re all gonna die.

Struck on the freeway
Or under the knife,
We’ll all have to bid
Fond farewell to this life.

Stabbed in the back
Or just lying in bed,
There’s no way around it;
We’ll all wind up dead.

We’re none of us ready,
And, God! we aspire
To live on forever,
To never expire.

But we’ll all bite the bullet.
We hope it won’t hurt,
And, sooner or later,
We’ll all turn to dirt.

June 22, 2005


Be of good cheer; we're heading to the light.