Heavenly Horn

Our minds are easily worn,

But what makes life so precious;

It lasts until the heavenly horn.
 

Though we endlessly mourn,

Loved ones being mistreated makes us jealous,

Our minds are easily worn.

We sometimes regret being born,

We soon value the very essence;

It lasts until the heavenly horn.

 

We attempt repairs on organs metaphorically torn,

Until we find that eventually we’re breathless;

Our minds are easily worn.

Embellished in roses, our flaws are thorns,

Weary of imperfections, one is restless;

It lasts until the heavenly horn.
 

We tend to often scorn,

When shall we be selfless?

Our minds are easily worn,

It lasts until the heavenly horn.