Borrowed Time

A flower blooms
While a child cries.
A life is born
As an old man dies.

Life’s not given.
It is a loan.
It’s time we use,
But never own.

A privilege bestowed.
Something to cherish.
Spend it wisely,
For soon we all perish.

Then our children are left
With the life we once mused.
To make the most of existence
And time we once used.

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