DIARY

On every day of every life another page is turned,

The sun has set, the day is done, those hours have been burned,

And in the darkest time of night, when you are all alone,

The quiet sinks into your flesh, and seeps into your bones.

The next page of life’s diary turns over. It is blank.

Then when it’s full, you’ll only have free will and chance to thank,

And then another night with lonely hours, hard to bear,

And then another day, another page, you feel them wear.

Then suddenly you realise you have few pages left,

You feel hollow, like the victim of some dreadful theft,

You treasure every moment now, each breath and every feeling,

An hour is a minute now, and this sets your mind reeling.

It is the lot of mortal man, the curse that we were born for,

It has been said before, that all of this is what we mourn for,

From ancient times to modern day, from poverty to gentry,

Do not dismiss one precious moment of each diary entry.