Procession of Days
Life is a procession of days,
They fly past us,
With acute precision,
They keep us with a vision,
Times are floating by,
We live in days,
At times happy,
At times sorrowful,
And at times dull,
Yet our count on earth,
Continues to evaporate,
The doctor comes,
The priest comes,
Our lives and our times vanish.
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