Flies and Men
Why should not every fly deserve an epitaph,
distinctive niche retain to archive its descent
glorify each strain, decode genetic ascent,
to measure time thereby upon a six foot graph?
Why should each tail-less Man detail pathetic trace,
pollute the atmosphere with ashes, crush the grass
beneath a heavy bier, hard headstone where 'alas'
not R.I.P. aside sums up his tale of grace?
If life is chyrsalid between two karmic dreams
why care a tinker's curse for hearse or ashes spread,
or passing sigh rehearse, then in time's web all bed
sums all - kid, spell, sell, bid, knell, hid, hubbub's extremes.
Time flies with wings nor sect, nor insect may restrain,
rhyme sighs: 'Time's stings' respect, yet stay telomeres' strain.
Jonathan ROBIN's Other Poems
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