Life is but now
A whisper between life and death
From life's first cry to one's final breath
Nothing but the seasons under the sun

Empty handed he cometh
Thus empty handed he must leave, alone
From dust he came and to dust he shall return
Why nurture so much of pride and ego

In the highway of life's voyage
Where one's death can never be substituted
What is man but a mortal being
Engulfed by selfish and greed

Little ones grow up and old ones die
Each day a step closer towards ones grave
Perhaps a little act kindness and love's what matter most
For this life is but now