One's Born Days

a villanelle

As the seasons, so in turn, our living is a dying –
Seedling bound to the earth while reaching to the sky;
As paragraph to novel grows, so is our abiding.

To spread and branch into this world hopeful in residing –
Rings of wood and numbered page watch as they imply,
As the seasons, so in turn, our living is a dying.

What is mankind moved to do within this coinciding –
When declensions of our day define that we are born to die.
As paragraph to novel grows, so is our abiding.

Or woodsman with his axe display how worldviews are colliding.
The happiness unquestioned, but the sorrow leads to why –
As the seasons, so in turn, our living is a dying.

We wax and wane through night and day bound by our deciding –
Find a shelter in the toil (cocooned in truth with sights to fly),
As paragraph to novel grows, so is our abiding.

If sacrifice and choice of love while self begins subsiding –
Then joy exists on the earth and this should mystify;
As the seasons, so in turn, our living is a dying –
As paragraph to novel turns, so is our abiding –