Beyond The Horizon

Everybody has to die,

And so will I.

What use is the fret,

When nobody knows how much time is left.

Beyond the horizon,

Away in the void;

I see a light,

Soothing, yet so bright.

Come come, my friend,

Why the fume;

Repair the spirit and the

Weave of the loom.

Quick, hurry!

Time will not wait.

Do the mend,

Before it is too late.