Overhead Scrabbling by a Sunny Sill

No one wants to see the end,
But everyone wants to live
Long enough to see the end—

Sometimes, that’s the way it seems.
It’s comforting and it’s harsh
To think that your way of life,

Your kin and your descendants,
Maybe some, most of the world
You’ve known will go on along

A merry way without you.
Surely, if you have to die
Shouldn’t it be with the world

And better still if you had
A few years to be the last
Survivor after the fall?

That’s the fantasy that fuels
So many books and movies.
But look at you all, alive

While mostly in your declines,
As your civilization—
Who knows?—could go on and on.

Today, the human species
Will grieve a great many dead,
Tomorrow, as many more,

But the squirrel in the attic
And the fly at the window
Never planned to outlive you.