If I am here tomorrow Will there be a tomorrow, too? If I am here tomorrow Will you be here tomorrow, too? The sand falls through the hourglass. We watch it pile ever higher. Each grain falls, the moments pass To take us toward the funeral pyre. Some say that time's illusory, They say that it's not after us. Yet time seems so conclusory; How can we not but make a fuss About the finality of death. One day we'll draw our final breath. 7/9/2025
Nice one, Ernie. It reminds me of something my father-in-law said about a year back, before he died: “After a certain age, you constantly go to funerals until you become the guest of honor.”
I hate thinking about death, but sometimes I'm wise enough to know its another beginning. Good work Ernie.