A handful of earth

The sun shines on the blessed,
So why do we stand here and seem so depressed,
Who through our vain glory like peacocks are dressed,
While only a story are we said to have left,
Of the fountain of youth that we feel bereft,
As we fall at the mercy of times own caress,
Till all we once knew and all we once had,
Are lost in the fathoms of a mind in duress,
The treasures of life that are soon to be had,
By the ones who replace us and ones who are sad,
At our passing we leave with a handful of earth,
And contented by this we are meant to be glad,
Buried in graves and left to the mad.