As a volunteer village drummer at Rotary Orchid: A poem by Grace Seetharaman

The Circle of life,
The infinite ring,
Where it begins
When shall it end,
Who sings In between
Who earned in the
All of this turns to mere
,some good some better
with a jitter. 
What we make of it,
Is what really matters. 
Age and size no bar,
Life is an instrument
to play,
and each one is a star! 
The silver oaks stand tall,
A few may bend and 
some may buckle. 
The fact is, they are
Where we shall be
Old age is a blessing,
not all live to see 
many beautiful sunrises,
a spectrum of memories. 
A handful of us break 
the dawn,
Playing  on these 
vibrant village drums! 
The drums echo,
the ancient calls..
The  circle of life
grows with every
beat and fall.
I am, is as we all are!
What goes up, shall
come around,
to rotate the  Circle 
of Life!