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.