Finis coronat opus

For full of trouble
Is man born of woman
For e’en if he be justly noble
Hate he gains from man and clan

          Three score and ten years
          Has the Captain give us
          But if by strength thou perseveres
          Worries and worries alas

Then when knocks the Pilot
To collect the souls of we sinful lot
Will we rejoice in gladness
Or cry out in untold sadness

We ask ourselves about our death each day

And as humans, we push those thoughts away.


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