And what have we here?
What is there, besides life?
When the sun has melted into the hills
What's the reason for the strife?
Some say that happiness is the prize
Like such vain forms of popularity
Still, others live for what's to come
They carry on for posterity
Toils and troubles are insignificant
All the lives ever touched will expire
Nothing is quite permanent enough
To face the future's fire
And I, who am I?
A mere speck on this Earth
I'll soon be forgotten
So what is it worth?
Author's Note: The answer to this question is different for everybody. Please feel free to post your response in the BBS.
