From dust to dust our lives are thrust,
while flames the candle’s brief combust.
We leave the shelter of the bay,
unmindful night will follow day,
to launch our voyage, earn a crust.

All nature seems a sage august.
In paths of promises we trust,
not weighing dreams along the way
from dust to dust.

With age comes waning wanderlust.
The mortal frame’s begun to rust.
In measured steps our scenes we play.
But even stars to death fall prey.
And yet there must be more than just
from dust to dust…