How long am I given to live
And what will I do with my time
My bent is to write down some words
Made easier by the desire to rhyme
Yet I do not live in a bubble
Separated from all other life
I know the impact of friends
Which brings such joy and strife
The pleasure of intimate knowledge
The treasure of loving touch
The leisure of dwelling together
Are measures of living and such
Spending time without purpose
Like life without knowing love
Is just a blank wall gathering dust
Ignoring the finger from above
Which writes on the heart it made
Your measure of time is weighed
And your purpose is found wanting
By the living from which you have strayed
So whether my days yet to be seen
Are many, or are soon to be cut short
The greatest goal in my heart
Is for love to give a good report.