The Poet Counts Stars and Paddles on the River of Life

Midway across the river of life, I stopped rowing.
Life sat down next to me and with a growl snatched
Away my rusty paddle and continued,
Ignoring my painful moan of an unknown sickness.
I will always be rowing forward, Life says, whether you like it or not.
Aimless, the other side of the river seems so far away.
I lay down watching Life, carry on his daunting, troublesome toil.
I glanced up, counting stars, One'Two'and Three, tireless task.
On mutual agreement, we signed with body mind and soul,
But I always fall short as Life was always looking down at me
On my lying, devastated form.
As he continues, I dream,
Aimless dreams, but dreams nonetheless.
Midway across the river of life, Life stopped rowing.
I sat down next to Life and with a satisfied smile snatched
Away my rusty, rusty paddle and continued from there forth,
Ignoring Life's mocking moan of an unknown Death.
I will always be rowing on, I said, whether I like it or not.
I dream,
and I began to hear,
Waves crashing on shores.