Cremation urn and white rose flower --- Image by © Dieter Heinemann/Westend61/Corbis

Image by © Dieter Heinemann/Westend61/Corbis

Moulded & formed in flesh, bloodily & intricately boned,
Drawn, drafted, designed & by God´s finger, finely honed,
Or perhaps by the big bang, or could be by Darwin´s words,
Maybe we once were Neanderthals, great apes or even birds.

Made, melded, stirred, baked, kneaded & very neatly folded,
Birthed since eons past, morphed & no longer olde worlded,
Marbled from mud, dust, stoned rock & ancient cloying clay,
Freed from earth & taught by all, how to work, laugh & play.

Time goes by in the vast plan of men, kings & manner of things,
Life´s so short & flies away, swiftly upon the feathers of wings,
We are all just little crumbs, rolled between the fingers of God,
Til we´re all crumbled to dust, finally returned to earth´s glad sod.

From the hot moulten iron to death´s cold & tired journey to rust,
Ashes to grey flying ashes & dust to the finality of soft sepia dust,
We birth, we grow, we love, we mate, we work, we learn & earn,
In the end, returning to the walls of death´s bronzed & burnished urn.

© Sue Lobo

Excerpt from the book “The Last Dance”

Now Available at:www.ctupublishinggroup.com
• Also available on Amazon.com by Title

Photo Credit: © Dieter Heinemann/Westend61/Corbis

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