The Last Post

Some time or other life will tell you no;
You will be turned away, and pack your clothes,
And death will call on you, and you will go
Down the uncertain road and take it slow
And stop, look back and wonder - were they so
Important, then, those sunny hours, those snows?

And death will shrug, and smile at you, and wait
For you to draw your own conclusions, high
Upon the ridge. Past ranting at your fate
You'll grin at what you used to be. It's late
And you continue till you reach the gate
Of darkness and all efforts have passed by.