When I was young but oh so old
I drowned within a drought
As my skin was burned with winters cold
And the man who came in went out
As I climbed down to the attic
I smiled myself a pout
And I wrapped through the door paper thick
As the man who came in went out.
T'was my birthday today, so I'll put up a poem in celebration. Today's most morbid of topics is one that does plague the mind when another year turns away-- death. I often muse to what happens to the soul once one is dead, a morbid exercise you will agree. I believe after death we go to a new place, a good place, where we can see once more all those we love. Of course, one is allowed one's own beliefs. Just have to wait and see, I suppose.