An Existentialism Question:

We are all just road kill
On this highway of life;
Molecular machines
Programed to die.

You, my friend, dead in the paper.
Hit by a cancer train
As you crossed from adult
To Middle aged Man

Your footprints on this road
No longer there with mine
Looking past behind me
They disappear, forgotten.

Do not forget those still here
Pictures on the wall of those you left
One by one we will join you
And then again will my hand be in thine.