The ruins of time
Face of the orphan
earth
that feeds us
ashes to ash
dust to dust
womb to tomb
ingate of birth
mere taste
of happiness and mirth
advancement
and honours vain
great labour
and long-lasting pain
this flesh
a bubble-glass of breath
trophy for devouring death
for deeds die
however nobly done
thoughts too decay
but wise words may
perchance outlive sad days
of sorrow and decay
John Lyons