Dangerous Pastime Poem by William Blake Beckett

Is it a blessing,
To have nine lives?
Is it a blessing,
To Know no lies?

Is it a blessing,
To seek the Truth?
Is it a blessing,
To lose one's youth?

Is it a blessing,
To think these thoughts,
As Death takes sips,
From our life draughts?

Is it a blessing,
To hold her hand,
As it slowly fades,
And turns to sand?

Is it a blessing,
To die with her,
Or live on still,
A lonely cur?

And do my thoughts,
Yet waste my time?
And do your thoughts,
Still coincide?

And shall we walk,
And wish to fly,
And ask the skies,
For just more time?

Shall we yet wait
Your hand in mine?
And listen still
For a reply?

Or shall we live,
Woman and man,
And spend our time,
The best we can?

Curiosity killed the cat,
But the cat has nine lives.

Eight left,
what's next,
A dangerous pet
And a dangerous pastime!