Gravy Train

Beyond the scoop of gravy children nod
As grandad coughs his way through a stock speech:
You are on borrowed time son, life is short.
His tone, suitably solemn, hopes to reach.

Some doubt it, others shrink in fear, but most
Politely take in that essential point.			
While still another boy, an awkward sort,
Feels for the first time life may disappoint.

He thinks of death. A gift, a curse, a bore?
Perhaps ’tis better never to have been.
Are we the lucky ones to have been born?
Was grandad’s fag end life worth living in?

These answers should by right consume our lives,
Yet clad in valiant youth they smile unfazed.
How little it all matters — yes, we die —
That truth remains mundane however phrased.

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