The Final Race



Staring at him with an icy glare,
The mistress of time did so prepare,
To end the life of such a man,
Who life's last race he had just ran.
The trumpets sound of fate's embrace,
Marked the ending of this race...

And as the man stood there preparing,
The mistress of time still stood glaring.
But then before the mistress' stare,
The man let out a quiet prayer.
Not one of regret, remorse, or shame,
Not one one of sadness or of blame,
Instead the man, with a great full sigh,
Thanked the Lord, he was allowed to die,
At the end of his life, and not before,
He learned to love, and experience more,
Than many men do, at their end of time...
And so the man, far past his prime,
Stood to face time's cold embrace,
And left as a man no other could replace.

--------------------------------

Staring at him with an icy glare,
The mistress of time did so prepare,
To end the life of such a man,
Who life's last race he had just ran.
The trumpets sound of fate's embrace,
Marked the ending of this race...

And as the man stood there preparing,
The mistress of time still stood glaring.
But then before the mistress' stare,
The Man did something few would dare.
He cursed at God, the mistress too,
For he felt, he had much more to do.
"How Unfair!", the man did cry,
"How unjust, a man like me should die!".
For here was a man who had not lived,
Half the life the other man did,
So shouting at God, and cursing at time,
Lay dead a man, before his prime,
His name forgotten, his post replaced,
A hollow memory was erased...

And so now the moral of the tale,
The mistress of time does not fail,
So remember these men, and do not forget,
To live a life without regret,
So maybe then, when your time is near,
You will have nothing left to fear,
For you have lived a life, none can replace,
And proudly you can finish the race.