A grey haired man in his 70s; hiding the spring in his step <br />A thriving man in his 20s; except he is dead <br /> <br />And as I sat in the crowded room <br />hunched shoulders; an air of doom <br />'It isn't fair, ' someone said <br />As if only a senior were ever that were dead <br /> <br />The spry codger felt guilty for being old <br />Like he'd stolen years, or cheated a toll <br />And no one asked did the kid smoke or drink? <br />'Cause he was far too young, was all we could think <br /> <br />But as I listened, looking like I was praying <br />I came to realize, none of us will be staying <br />He wasn't robbed, for years aren't guaranteed <br />At this point I realized a life has no deed <br /> <br />So I try to recall this person we lost <br />but also the way that I approach the day's cost <br />So when my mystery time has arrived <br />When not another day have I survived <br /> <br />People won't think of that...<br /><br />John Anderson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/young-man-s-funeral/
