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