It’s a very steep grade to the bottom of the hill
There is no stopping, no tripping of the will
There’s only the bottom, that comes to an end
Feet first or by a head, it continues to send
The pitch has its changes, but goes the same route
That we will end, there is not a doubt.
So we seek to go slowly, healthy or lame
Yet none of us will arrive there quite the same
And nearing the end is the same quandary too
How the time slides will be a mystery to you
At times we hope for it to pass slow
And yet during frustration, no speed will it show.
While the loss is still the result we will see
We will never know exactly what we do need
This parent is sick and too ill to go on
While another is healthy and seems far from gone
But the hidden message has been tied to their life
And the remaining time may be a shortened slice
In the end they will pass from your view
And although known, there’s not a thing you can do
Some get a delay that is nice, perhaps one even splendidly long
While with another it’s past in a wisp, and gone
Before you can set your anchors, they are on the list
And like everyone before them, truly missed.