A Sevenling for the Inevitability of Death (Poem)

Three things breathe the human pleasures of life:
The warm, damp weight of a sleeping infant, moulded to the shoulder;
The motorised hum of a lap-purring cat; the heart-clenching scent of jasmine, wild and insistent.

Three things cast the bones for the future:
A sky full of ice-bright infinite stars; a cough that will not leave;
The soft intonation of Genesis spoken aloud in a dim room.

For we are dust, oh yes.

- Kathy, 27/3/16