What are men,
but puppets on a string
Contemplations, every now and then,
Dya hear the hollow ring.
Hours go by, days fly by,
Lost in asking, who am I
A conjured image, a stifled sigh.
Chagrined delusions, a yellow lie.
Do I dare visit my spring ,
In the autumn of my life.
What memories that shalt bring,
How bad could be the strife?
Lost in the whirpools, sands of time,
Innocence lost, a vocal mime.
Just puppets on a string,
That stone in the sling,
By my fingertips... I barely cling ...
