Birth and death: covers to life's book

When reading we all wonder, where,

that cherished future’s disappeared.

Once baby's crib, now rocking chair

 

We thumb through those pages slowly,

skipping quickly past self-regret,

Flicking promptly through printed grief

That we're desperate to forget.

 

The contents page; our promises

made by one, to each, to others

Sadly those we've left unfulfilled,

are pencilled beneath the covers

 

Blatant corner pagination,

Recount ambitions that were wished

Penned desires on those even leaves,

On the odd, advantages missed

 

Pausing, we read, contemplating,

Reviewing with critical eye,

Were our first-chapter dreams achieved

Or diminished and waved goodbye

 

At length, we reach the concluding chapter

Regrettably entitled 'If only'

Realising we are both shelved, hardbound

This book and I, foxed, shrivelled, and lonely