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You say I am preoccupied with death, Yet I was conceived, And born, In death like state, Gasping, Fighting for life. Death is a preoccupation Because life is only a short interlude, And being born of death, And to live only until last breath, AlI one sees is his hearse, The only chance to ride in a limosine, Apart from marriage day, Is flower power Silk smooth ride to cemetary. And yet in the midst of death There is life And losing life would be as nothing Compared to losing you. No, this preoccupation is with life, With all its twists and turns, Its interactions with persons and places, Hearts in faces, Eyes smiling or sad with tears, But always full with questions. I do not have the answers That need to be given, My search must be made inside my head. Life and death are true soul mates, And, as life begins and ends in deaths, Father Time can be insidious, uncaring, And unsparing. Our future is assured, But living can still be melancholy, Though for you, and because of you, I will smile. |