Procrastination, in the rhyme,
Is said to be the thief of time,
But of our hopes and our belief
It’s time itself that is the thief.
Despairing, with our latest breath,
We ask ‘Where am I after death?’
It might be more a cause of mirth
To ask ‘Where was I before birth?’
One, if it exists at all,
Only exists as part of all.
So, out of time, we all shall be
Existing in eternity.
© Adrian Campbell 1997