What shadow slides across this earth
So randomly as to engulf
One soul but not another?
What cloud portends a destined storm
To hasten those unworldly throes
For one man but not his brother?
With each dawning, renewed light
Reveals the one, by chance, selected
To feel that day the shadow’s passing.
And with each evening, complacency
grows more tempered by realization
Of time, after all, not everlasting.
Perhaps most fortunate are those
Who never feel the cold or rain
Or hear the thunder - for whom swift lightening,
When it strikes, inflicts no pain.
