URN:

Moulded & formed in flesh, bloodily & intricately boned,

Drawn, drafted, designed & by God´s finger, finely honed,

Or perhaps by the big bang, or could be by Darwin´s words,

Maybe we once were Neanderthals, great apes or even birds.

Made, melded, stirred, baked, kneaded & very neatly folded,

Birthed since eons past, morphed & no longer olde worlded,

Marbled from mud, dust, stoned rock & ancient cloying clay,

Freed from earth & taught by all, how to work, laugh & play.

Time goes by in the vast plan of men, kings & manner of things,

Life´s so short & flies away, swiftly upon the feathers of wings,

We are all just little crumbs, rolled between the fingers of God,

Til we´re all crumbled to dust, finally returned to earth´s glad sod.

From the hot moulten iron to death´s cold & tired journey to rust,

Ashes to grey flying ashes & dust to the finality of soft sepia dust,

We birth, we grow, we love, we mate, we work, we learn & earn,

In the end, returning to the walls of death´s bronzed & burnished urn.