What in the world is the signature of life?

Does it show most while we’re in the midst of strife?

Does it appear in the image of a caring wife?

Does it run all about in the land as if rife?

Or while we roam free, as like birds in flight?

Why don’t we look for the signature of life?

Do we say to ourselves it isn’t worth the sacrifice?

Do we convince ourselves what it is isn’t right?

Or do we miss it, and leave it watching in disguise?

Can we ever truly find out the meaning of this life?

When should we see the true signature of life?

Is it shown to us after the dawns’ first light?

Do we notice it after the moon herald’s night?

Or do we chase it, like we chase the strings of a kite?

Perhaps, should we never find the signs, it’s alright;

Because maybe, just maybe, we’re the signature of life.