Bookends

Birth and death: covers to life's book When reading we all wonder, where, that cherished future’s disappeared. Once baby's crib, now rocking chair We thumb through those pages slowly, skipping quickly past self-regret, Flicking promptly through printed grief That we're desperate to forget. The contents page; our promises made by one, to each, to others Sadly those we've left unfulfilled, are pencilled beneath the covers Blatant corner pagination, Recount ambitions that were wished Penned desires on those even leaves, On the odd, advantages missed Pausing, we read, contemplating, Reviewing with critical eye, Were our first-chapter dreams achieved Or diminished and waved goodbye At length, we reach the concluding chapter Regrettably entitled 'If only' Realising we are both shelved, hardbound This book and I, foxed, shrivelled, and lonely