All This Living Poem by Paul Reed
All This Living
The luckiest life ever lived
But still to come to a close
The finest flour ever sieved
The biggest, most fragrant rose
What was the use of all this living
If I have to end it in pain
What was the use in all my giving
If I can't come home again
The beginning, middle and end
But the greatest of these is the last
No good seeing around the bend
When all that's there is the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/27/2024 4:54:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
