The Wheel of Time

Woe, for Death is upon us,

And in it, the beauty of Life is forgotten.

No longer do flowers smile in their blossoming,

Or children frolic through meadows.

Instead, the leaves whisper death in their downward spiral from a tree's barren branches,

While elders grieve the loss of childhood friends.

And Death, the grim reaper it is,

Takes all and gives none, leaving sadness in its wake.

Day and night walk hand in hand,

Filled with sorrow.

And hasten, the birds quiet,

As mourners walk on.

But the wheel of time goes on,

Despair stepping out of the lives of the mourning,

Happiness creeping in.

Now the wheel pauses once more.

Woe, for Death is upon us,

And in it, the beauty of Life is forgotten.