Here's a nice poem I came across. It's in an old paperback I've got: Immortal Poems of the English Language
. Language moves. We all know that. It can make familiar information so pointed. This poem ("On a Fly drinking out of his Cup"
) is by William Oldys (1696 - 1761).
Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me and drink as I:
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline:
Thine's a summer, mine's no more,
Though repeated to threescore.
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one!