A Question of Life

Is a life set up before it’s born?
A future which it has no say,
As a rose with a sharp thorn
Grows in its own way.

Does each have its own fate,
Following a pre- determined plan,
Entering its own gate
An imprinted life-span?

Hearing a singular voice,
A branch of a certain tree,
An entity without a choice;
A wave in the turbulent sea

Who, like the humble bee
Fullfills its destiny til death.
Is this the way of you and me,
From birth to final breath?

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