Colin F. Jones


Each man will have his day his time will come,
His fate is measured from which he cannot run,
He has lived his life now for him it is the end,
To face alone; for him to comprehend.
For the sin of birth tis death he faces soon,
A personal truth; a private mysterious doom.
Some will rot on battle fields and stink,
Some will wither with no minds to think,
Some will slowly waste away and die,
And some will live forever in another’s eye.
But they will all have their day; yes every one,
Most just ‘up and dying ‘; just moving on.
Success will be the children who were born,
Who now those lost who served them they do mourn.