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*A Bus of Lugubrious Procession of Fleeting Joys.- Memento Mori.*
At destiny's bus stop, we wait and we sigh,
For life's fleeting moments that swiftly pass by.
Convoys of buses like bees, in sorrow they glide,
Like funeral processions, where dreams often hide.
At this clinging bus stop, we do throng,
As a multitude, in precarious song.
Hanging by threads of web, from hilltop's crest,
Awaiting life's benevolence, we find no rest.
Hours tick by, like grains of sand,
As cloudy convoys pass, with lugubrious hand.
Buses of promise, now but a funeral pace,
Leaving us forlorn & hanging, in a desolate space.
We soar, we glide, we dance with glee,
For a life's good milestone, we see.
For a moment's joy, a lifetime's bliss,
A memory etched, in our hearts' mist.
Like sightseers, we swarm, to fall from above,
Unmindful of life's fleeting, transient love.
Ephemeral joys, like flies with broken wings,
Dance but a day, in sorrow's dark rings.
We throng like the sightseers, eager to see,
But tumble down from hilltops, where joy used to be.
Life’s joys are like whispers, so brief and so bright,
Ephemeral treasures that fade out of sight.
The world outside, a cloudy blur of blue,
A waiting game, a moment's pause,
For hours we swarm, a patient crew,
For life's good milestone, we must pause.
In the realm of time, where minutes stretch & hours crawl,
There caravan of humans wait for the bus, our destiny's stern call.
On a hilltop, we swarm, our spirits high and bright,
For a life's good milestone, we're ready to take flight.
It comes, as a gleaming, golden sight,
A symbol hope, a beacon bright,
It whispers dreams, it speaks of might,
And carries us, to new mountainous heights.
But alas, our joy is short-lived, a distant mirage in the haze,
For as we wait, we see convoys of buses in dismay.
In lugubrious funeral cortège procession, they pass us by,
Leaving us in sorrow, our dreams in the sky.
Their numbered banners, a grim reminder of our fate,
As we stand & watch, our hearts heavy with weight.
Their departure, a knell, a toll of our hopes and fears,
Leaving us alone, our journey's doubts and tears.
Yet still we wait, our spirits unbroken and strong,
For the bus that will take us where we belong.
In the depths of our hearts, a fire burns bright,
Guiding us forward, into the light of the night.
In life's...
For life's fleeting moments that swiftly pass by.
Convoys of buses like bees, in sorrow they glide,
Like funeral processions, where dreams often hide.
At this clinging bus stop, we do throng,
As a multitude, in precarious song.
Hanging by threads of web, from hilltop's crest,
Awaiting life's benevolence, we find no rest.
Hours tick by, like grains of sand,
As cloudy convoys pass, with lugubrious hand.
Buses of promise, now but a funeral pace,
Leaving us forlorn & hanging, in a desolate space.
We soar, we glide, we dance with glee,
For a life's good milestone, we see.
For a moment's joy, a lifetime's bliss,
A memory etched, in our hearts' mist.
Like sightseers, we swarm, to fall from above,
Unmindful of life's fleeting, transient love.
Ephemeral joys, like flies with broken wings,
Dance but a day, in sorrow's dark rings.
We throng like the sightseers, eager to see,
But tumble down from hilltops, where joy used to be.
Life’s joys are like whispers, so brief and so bright,
Ephemeral treasures that fade out of sight.
The world outside, a cloudy blur of blue,
A waiting game, a moment's pause,
For hours we swarm, a patient crew,
For life's good milestone, we must pause.
In the realm of time, where minutes stretch & hours crawl,
There caravan of humans wait for the bus, our destiny's stern call.
On a hilltop, we swarm, our spirits high and bright,
For a life's good milestone, we're ready to take flight.
It comes, as a gleaming, golden sight,
A symbol hope, a beacon bright,
It whispers dreams, it speaks of might,
And carries us, to new mountainous heights.
But alas, our joy is short-lived, a distant mirage in the haze,
For as we wait, we see convoys of buses in dismay.
In lugubrious funeral cortège procession, they pass us by,
Leaving us in sorrow, our dreams in the sky.
Their numbered banners, a grim reminder of our fate,
As we stand & watch, our hearts heavy with weight.
Their departure, a knell, a toll of our hopes and fears,
Leaving us alone, our journey's doubts and tears.
Yet still we wait, our spirits unbroken and strong,
For the bus that will take us where we belong.
In the depths of our hearts, a fire burns bright,
Guiding us forward, into the light of the night.
In life's...
