Well Lived Life

Well Lived Life

The measure of his life in time

A thousand months and then ninety more

And still he lives each day in full

And counts the living, not the final score


A maze of cluttered dusty rooms

Stacked high with living’s strife

A storehouse full to bursting

An accumulated stack of well lived life.


Here horded junk and life’s debris

Piled high in leaning towers of plunder

The fragmented pieces of a life well lived

Sparkling gems of wonder


Still to face each day with awe

To live in full, until his final breath

And gather the miracles of life

Keep them stored against his coming death


© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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