Births and Deaths
Every day has births and deaths,
Not one of them routine,
While most of us are dealing with
The stuff that comes between.
The entries and the exits
To and from our varied lives
Give no clue to an observer
Of who struggles or who thrives.
The baby, just emerging,
Is a blank, unblemished slate,
While the dying must accept that
Any change will be too late.
For the rest of us, we’re kind of like
The filling in the bread,
Our days the sustenance between
The newborn and the dead.
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