I draw a deep breath and put pen to paper. But the words won’t flow. Not yet. I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. I know I need to prepare an expression of sympathy, to write out a letter of condolence to a friend who has suffered a tragic loss. I want him to know my love, my support, my comfort in this, his hardest hour. I picture the one who lived and then died, who flourished for a time, but who was soon gone like the flowers that fade, like the dust that blows in the wind. And I see once again the fleeting nature of life.
Life is fleeting—fleeting like the dew that settles to the grass in the dark of night, but then burns away with the earliest heat of the morning.
Life is fleeting—fleeting like the leaves of the tree that open in the spring, that catch the light of the sun through the summer, but that fall to the ground in the first cool days of autumn.
Life is fleeting—fleeting like the lily that blooms in the darkness of night, that displays its beauty for a single day, but that
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