If there’s a book you want to write,
if you’ve a song to sing,
pick up that pen, lift up your voice,
for time is on the wing.

You may not have another chance
to play your drum and fife,
for no one knows when death will still
the pendulum of life.

I knew a gifted artist once
who put his brush away,
deciding he’d not paint at all
till he’d spent time at play.

In prime of life the Reaper came
and heaved a dooming breath,
then snatched him up without a blink
and hurled him into death.

How sad to view his canvas now,
a waste beyond compare;
procrastination was the choice
that left his canvas bare.

Copyright © 2000 Ruth Gillis

Previously appeared in the May 2000 issue
of the Inspirational Poet

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