The Final Breath

Toil and hardship, hand in hand,

Extol the virtues - once arrived -

Of joy and love for how are we

To know the difference, if deprived.

But if before that one last breath,

A tiny chink reveals a prize

Of words so heartfelt, so enriching

As to waken tired eyes.

We never still the fleeing tide,

Escape the Reaper on his spree

But I'm content. The final breath

Is sweeter for such poetry.