Noon is the middle of the day
We are told this, anyway . . .
The sun rises and it sets,
And a heart can have regrets.
To smell the roses we seldom stop,
But we always have time to shop –
Through it all we just pretend,
But we always knew life must end.
Was money the apple of our eye?
And the lack of it made us cry –
So why are we filled with fear . . .
When the Grim Reaper comes near.
A time will come to lay us down,
But it’s only a shell in the ground –
Our souls will be in God’s hands
From birth this was always His plan.
Epaphroditus© February 12, 2024
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