Alone Again Poem by Bryan Taplits

The sorrow of it is:
A man is borne alone;
He dies alone;
And his life is just the filler,
Even if one supposes-
And proposes-
Man will never control the tiller.

Sure, you can buck up tall
Until the girls all swoon
And everyone else thinks you're just grand,
But then you cross the street-
Then comes a car you happen to meet-
Your ending will become a deconstructed
"once grand plan".

However, if you start out slow
Wherever you go
And you make sure
That you don‘t pick up any speed,
You'll see maybe not enough-
But at least you won't be able to lose much-
And eventually you'll discover
there's not too much that ever you will want-
Nor ever that you will need.