Why should not every fly deserve an epitaph,
distinctive niche retain to archive its descent
and glorify each strain, chart gene-I-Us ascent,
to measure time thereby upon a six foot graph ?
Why should each tail-less Man detail pathetic trace,
pollute the atmosphere with ashes, crush the grass
beneath a heavy bier, hard headstone coup de grâce
though ‘R.I.P.’ aside would [st(r)]etch his tale of grace ?
If life is chrysalid between two karmic dreams
why care a tinker’s curse for hearse or ashes spread,
or passing sigh rehearse, then in time’s web all bed
sums all – kid, spell, sell, bid, knell, hid, - hubbub’s extremes.
Time flies with wings nor sect, nor insect may restrain,
rhyme sighs: ‘Time’s stings respect !’ yet stay telomeres’ strain.
Bronze trophy winner
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