Among the dust, dim lights, and decaying books

Sat an warn old scholar in his concluding chapter.

He would page through tomes with distracted looks

Lost in thoughts of life, death and the hereafter.

His life was soon ending and all on his mind,

Was how he lived and worked and spent his time.

He rotely turned pages as over his youth he pined.

He remembered what he was, idealistic in his prime.

But as one reads from word to word, life moves.

As old men would do, he accounted for his work,

His accomplishments many, his station proves.

Though darkness still comes, he has room for a smirk.

No one reads their own epilogue, it is for others to write.

No comfort came from the tasks into his life he shoved

Closed the tome, no words read, no doubts to fight.

His comfort, Divine Author and His legacy, those he loved.