And finally I see, that as
A Dance to the Music of Time
Reaches Winter
Then what we are watching
Is my life, or your life, or our life
Laid out chronologically
Around you, and I, there is
Birth, and life, and death
On our linear portrayals
We too go through
Many tributes and tribulations
There are times for reflection
You know the sort of thing
As a teenager
Bored out of your mind
Then in middle age
Worrying about the kids
Until, later on, you turn to
Contemplating on your own purpose
Finding distractions
To keep the inevitable passing at bay
Eventually though, the penny drops
Recognition drives in her heavy horses
There is to be no more procreation
It is the time for fine cut clothes
And finer beer, or longer liqueur cocktails
On our endless exotic vacations
In our attempts to keep the unsteadiness alive
