Why is man designed to die?
Perchance, perchance I wonder why.
The world may become too populated.
Weigh too much, of worldly worries.
Planet had a thundering head.
Just wishes she may go to bed.
Whistling winds.
Drums of thunder.
Deluged by rain.
Sit and wonder.
Count on the fingers of one hand.
Where pleasantries belie the land.
Moonface is watching, through curtains that twitch.
Death,although horrid is surely a gift.
(c)LIVVI