As I sit, nay to write.
Sun soon sets, swallowed by night.
Fading moon’s arc, stars shine bright.
Yet it’s now, nay to write.
As I sit, only time ahead.
Thoughts fixed of the living and dead.
Life moves on, or so it’s said.
Yet it’s now, only time ahead.
As I sit, nay to sleep.
Death surrounds, sow or reap.
Questions abound, lay or leap.
Yet it’s now, nay to sleep.