A Passerby

I can't give a description for this poem, you'd just have to read it.

How dreaded, most put today off til’ tomorrow.
Life at a glance; a passerby; a hand off.
If a single life twas’ spent for a single breath,
And though those who knoweth not a reason more,
Tis’ a single life; a single breath our own?
Is it granted really? Do we covet aboundingly?
Live life lofty, but selflessly entire.
“We are Companions, We are Love.”