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Why does everyone obsess about dying,
why can't we just accept it's our fate?
When I was young, I thought about dying,
though years stretched out on life's endless road.
I never talked of the fears that I had,
then life continued and death never showed.
When grown, life was all about what I could gain,
money, possessions, collections of stuff.
Still, I was filled with thoughts about dying,
the life I had lived up 'til then, not enough.
Along came a husband and children so dear,
I was young, happy, healthy, so full of life.
Still, I was filled with thoughts about dying,
thoughts of leaving them cut like a knife.
Now I am old and plagued with ill health,
not able to do the things that I love.
Still, I am filled with thoughts about dying,
not ready to go to my home up above.
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