Till, Sow, Water, Reap

And we keep on falling into tomorrows, A spinning particle with a soul, In harmony with the spheres, Sure as clockwork, Till that final moment, We meet dust, We become wind, And then we are for a while - a phrase, a song, a scent. Falling then, into yesterdays, Each descending further - Soundless, breathless, lifeless. Why then should we be, as if 'forever' is the blood in our veins? Have we not heard the phrase - 'life and death'? Till the soil farmer, till! As you live - sow, water and reap. For only then ... the swan song can be of a 'life full of years!' … That dirge laments not... For the epitaph sings of victories