Life

I wonder what it's all about, and why

We suffer so when little things go wrong

We make our life a struggle,

When life should be a song

Our troubles break and drench us,

Like spray on the cleaving prow

Of some trim Gloucester schooner,

As it dips in a graceful bow.

But why does sorrow drench us?

But like that cleaving prow,

The wind will fan and dry us,

And we'll watch some other bow.

But why does sorrow drench us 

When our fellow passes on

He's just exchanged life's dreary dirge

For the eternal life of the song.

What is an inborn human trait?

That frowns on a life of song

That makes us weep at the journey's 

end,

When the journey was oft-times wrong

Weep when we reach the door

That opens to let us in,

And brings to us eternal peace

As it closes again on sin

Millions have gone before us,

And millions will come behind,

So why do we curse and fight

At a fate both wise and kind,

We hang onto a jaded life

A life full of sorrow and pain 

A life that wraps and breaks us,

And we try to run through it again.