All through his life he drew the scenes of war. <br />One starless night, he hit a mine at dawn <br />And traveled to the bottom with the ship, <br />His final picture incompletely drawn. <br /> <br />Throughout his life, they came to him for cures, <br />He fought a furious battle against death <br />And died, from self-injection of the plague, <br />Research unfinished at his final breath. <br /> <br />Throughout his life he tested hearts and cars, <br />Beginning with the Newport as a boy. <br />He crashed when he was forty, to the end <br />Not having tested out the final toy. <br /> <br />We simply cannot get into our minds <br />That people do not always die in bed. <br />They die abruptly, with unfinished work, <br />Before they reach the target, they are dead! <br /> <br />As if a lifetime's cares may reach an end, <br />A lifetime's tasks, and then a final one, <br />And then, amidst one's family, there's peace, <br />A chair and rest, old age and all is done.<br /><br />Konstantin Mikhailovich Simonov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-through-his-life-he-drew-the-scenes-of-war/
