Thoughts at midnight

I like to sit down by the fire

Scratching my back with a wire

But it’s not yet invented

Though often circumvented

Everyone I know is a liar.

My ancestors lived in a cave

Until they reached  the end in the grave

So cold in the snow

And when the wind blows

To live well they had to be brave.

A solitary life is not best

It puts us too much to the test

But when you are old

In bed you are cold

Your trousseau  would be a silk vest.

Those who die young are deprived

Of a long and  fruitful  late Life

They leave grief in the bed

In which they were wed

The other is cut by sharp knives

From where does the darkness come down?

Humanity just call it a clown

Darkness at noon

Too late or too soon

The walls will all come tumbling downm