-- <br />A life means that many times each dies <br />for ends don't close a single-stranded thing <br />but hives the network of all that apprise <br />the ache in us; recorded, we still sing <br />until refrain will close with hush of pain. <br />To browse our photos- someone keeps us young <br />some three seconds and never then again; <br />while bank's named accounts save us, though we're hung. <br />So think of different things that make us up! <br />Our lives are pieces, sort of a la carte; <br />we're foe or friend, tossed salad, shelled scallop <br />or gait, or glove, or picture's pleading eyes! <br />Since you will turn away: again she dies. <br /> <br /> <br />UNDER CONSTRUCTION <br /> <br />(MY FORMER NEIGHBOURS RIGHTLY SAY <br />THAT WHEN I MOVED, I PASSED AWAY<br /><br />Glenn Bagshaw<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/construction-sight/
