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Poem

Twenty six people is all there would be
Between Mr Julius Ceaser and me
Twenty six lives laid end to end
It’s a notion akin to making time bend

Let me explain what I’m ranting about
That history’s short when you segment it out
First take a lifetime, let’s call it L
Apportion a value to it as well
Not many folk would be happy with less
So Eighty to me seems a fairly good guess

So when Mr Ceaser drew his last breath
If a baby was born at his time of death 
And grew up to live a life that we’ve called L
And at eighty years he passed as well

At the end of that life that we’ll call Man one
On that day the life of Man two had begun
Man two lives his L and on his death knell
Man three is then born for an eighty year spell

And should this continue, with L upon L
each starting when one visits heaven or hell
The thing that might shock you, like I was astounded 
Is how many Ls there would be once they’re rounded

Stabbed in the back in B.C. forty four
It’s hard to believe that the number’s not more

It’s a notion akin to making time bend
If twenty six lives were laid end to end
For twenty six people is all there would be
Between Mr Julius Ceaser and me

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