We all die when our time comes, each one,
A fish, a flower, a tree, a woman and a man,
This is the way of the world we need the room,
We are all born, grow up then mature and bloom,
Some take longer some just a short while to die,
Some go swiftly some take years to say good-bye,
Some die as prey so that others may live of their flesh,
Others end up as compost to help veggies grow afresh,
Only my shoe just sits in the corner not here nor there,
It is missing its partner, without it there is not a pair,
So, the left shoe just sits waiting for the right in despair,
Again and again we learn, life just is not being fair,