What is the purpose of the human race? I often ponder! The Foureyed Poet.
The Foureyed Poet
Not only do elderly people wait for the end
all living things eventually must transcend
nothing lives forever a time limit awaits
some by old age others the young it takes
the long years of labour with little reward
so much paid in but little is ever returned
every penny counted none can be stored
for most they know it was hard-earned!
The only way to know how somebody had lived
or begin to contemplate their depth of despair
is to face the same struggle that they did
there must be a strain on partnerships there
the golden handshake for long service has gone
a respectful thought for a loyal staff member
for such long dedication something is wrong
thus the repetitive slog is a dimming ember!
Those with work often count the time to retirement
the ones without regular employment also count
those times on the dole all have good intent
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