People talk about death As if it is the end Sometimes I see it as a beginning
They tell me that a person expires When there role is played And they have done there part
Sometimes I think this body of ours Is made of wood The older it grows the more it has to offer
Many people die before their time People talk of death among other things These are the very people who should be allowed to grow
No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true