The Land of the Living

Both infancy and childhood

Are siblings from the start

Their friendship, seldom understood,

Is primal at its heart

Adolescence is a crowd

That passes through the night

It calls, exuberant and loud,

Yet quickly fades from sight

And middle-age is but a band

Of neighbors in their fields

Behind each swathe of tended land

Their secrets lay concealed

Old age, a stranger in the park,

Prefers its calm repose

Akin to dwellings cold and stark

From where he first arose