David Bradford wrote this poem close to the end of his time in this life.
When first read it, When he was alive, I read it in the wrong frame of mind.
And now he isn’t here, His poem sounds like him.
It is only now I understand his poem.
My Dad was Dyslexic so writing this poem taken more effort than normal.
I Thank everyone who was his Friend, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, great grandchildren, sons and Daughters.
And to everyone who attended, let’s keep a memory of him in our hearts
Poem Written in April 2021 By David Bradford
Time goes on
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die.
Spring will come never more.
O, vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsakingYet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die.
Spring will come never more.
O, vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call’d–we must go.
Laid low, very low,
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call’d–we must go.
Laid low, very low,
This world does not belong to anyone
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