Song of a Town Crier at Thanksgiving Time

Song of a Town Crier at Thanksgiving Time

The starting point: ready, set, go ... that we know.

The Finish line ... we know not when...

all is discovery; mysteries are written

... in stone and in the wind.

Begun in innocence?

We may believe it is so, yet soon enough we

discover the cries of the infants

are ours also, and as our cries now, theirs will be.

Does the child’s query “Why?” ever die?

Fade it does as they are trained to forage and scheme.

Yet secret things whisper to us all in quieter times. 

Will we hear them and search them out?

The paths of mystery run through the earth and life,

a certain end we see at a distance,

and we see others arrive there first, did they search?

Secrets discovered but kept we will not know.

Will we seek also?

Or will the maddening noise of our wheels 

drive us, capture us, crush us? Somewhere

in the distance we will all be captured and crushed.

Time to smell the roses (and be thankful for them) is

taken captive by hunger pains and games, and by pride. 

We push to thrashing for our agenda and advantage. 

Our living is mostly maintenance.

We labor to live it well and long, 

yet we reach the finish,

yet undone, 

And to that mystery all do bow. 

Beginnings and endings, turning, spinning,

shadows fall but the light returns.

Circles, cycles, days and years... starts and starting again,

all does end, are we are finished at our end. 

Tomorrow we may die, and pleasure is commended, but

DEATH is the elephant in every room.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>....................................................... <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I wrote this while waiting for a friend who was having maintenance done by a surgeon on his right eye. After I wrote it, I picked up a Time magazine, Sept. 30th, 2013. The cover article was: 
Can Google Solve DEATH? 
The richest man ever to live did commend both labor (maintenance?) and pleasure (enjoying the fruits of labor). And that man, Solomon, the third King of Israel, son of David and Bathsheba, also said to be the wisest man who ever lived, did also write, in better words than mine:

1 Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, “I have no pleasure in them”; 2 before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, 3 in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed, 4 and the doors on the street are shut—when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low— 5 they are afraid also of what is high, and terrors are in the way; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and desire fails, because man is going to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets— 6 before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, 7 and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. 8 Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher; all is vanity.

9 Besides being wise, the Preacher also taught the people knowledge, weighing and studying and arranging many proverbs with great care. 10 The Preacher sought to find words of delight, and uprightly he wrote words of truth.

11 The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings; they are given by one Shepherd. 12 My son, beware of anything beyond these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.

13 The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. 14 For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.

Ecclesiastes 12

English Standard Version (ESV)