My Turn To Go
I cry not for the past, nor the present, it won't last
I cry not for seconds lost, in all of time what do they cost?
I cry for the future and days unknown
Stones unturned, things unshown
How much longer must I wait, for that ticket we call fate?
Will it come like a lion, vicious and stealth?
Or will it come at the end labled as "bad health?"
This one thing I wish to know, when will it be my turn to go?
Will the day be sunny or will it be dark?
When from this world I depart
Will they cry tears or turn their eye, from the person who once tried?
Will they remember all the good, or forget the past like I wish I could?
Will they say farewell as a rose they lay, on my coffin or my grave?
Or will the name there fade away, with each minute, with each day
Like so many gone before, those who too soon knocked on deaths door
Will they greet me with a smile, or with a look most vile?
I don't ask much, I never have
Is this one thing to much to ask?
An account of death, my own at that
So that I may know what is on that path
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