Dad's cycle has ended,
I'm still here suspended.
My time will come,
we all have to succumb.
Between coming and going,
life is like the wind blowing.

Dad never knew his day,
but he seemed to know his play.
He loved boating and fishing,
never sat around idle wishing.
He's gone fishing for good now,
loved his fish for chow,
also carved up the pig and cow.

Life seems to be a cycle,
got to attack it like a
football tackle.
Hit it hard first chance,
get with the love romance.
The cycle can end anytime,
metamorphosis needs help
to sublime.

The cycle will continue,
but won't necessarily friend you.
Dad became its friend,
lived it until the very end.
Eventually it did him in,
death
ends our life of sin & grin.

G