As I sat on a ledge over a cliff, I watched the sinking sun descend into the West. And a great somberness flowed over me as I saw that sinking orb flicker and then fade. The ways of the world felt like a rock in my chest as I pondered the frailty of flesh. As I sat there, my thoughts turned to these words:
The pangs of life is but the kiss of death,
One life to live before the final breath;
The sweetest song soon becomes a lament,
When cries of joy are turned into torment.
As roses bloom, so they must wither and fade,
Their pretty petals plucked, and then unmade;
The grass of spring changes to ice and snow,
As life gives way to darkness and woe.
Our life is but a spark that burns too fast,
A rising sun that must descend at last.
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