A daily poem on my death bed

My mental state has dwindled,
And my speech is slow and hoarse,
My eyes have ceased to sparkle,
And my heart's filled with remorse.

In age we've learnt our lessons -
from life's forge we've thus emerged,
but few among us feel prepared
when from this Earth we're purged.

A single poem every day,
A task that's not too much,
It'll stave my growing boredom,
Like, emotionally, a crutch.

Against the shadow of a life,
Lived hopelessly alone
It'll clarify my muddy mind,
And warm my heart of stone.

I will not write what could have been,
But that that can and will,
I'll rummage round my aging soul,
And question what I feel.

About the things I rarely gave,
A first or second thought;
Of opportunities unclaimed,
And work sadly unwrought.

In ignorance one cannot help
But tread a cursed path,
They say it's bliss but truth be told,
it just invites God's wrath.

And I understand it's only brief -
i've little left to live,
But with whatever strength I've left
To all I hope to give,

A reminder that throughout one's life,
the fortune Fate imposes,
Will be wasted on those who forget
To stop and smell the roses..