Death, The Only Certainty Poem by Frederick Weyer

Death is certain
Innocence, questionable
Life, measurable
Love, unfathomable
Think it wicked, think it false
These things three
By death made farce
Live and love and twiddle your thumbs
Thump out beats on your hearty drum
Raise your flag, sow your seed
Chew the chaff - feed, feed, feed
Bend your back or blow your horn
But this ye must, harvest the corn!
Do it quick, make it so
That all may truly know
That you have measured your life
And also each other
That you have sated your love
And lust off each other
That fought ye did, or bargained mayhap
For your innocence.
Fool! Open your eyes and see
How farcical these three
Death is the only certainty