I wonder 
 if a life when gone
 is cycled to another one,
 and death presents
 no definite end;
 I think
 of several open doors,
 many, many different shores
 on which recycled
 souls depend;
 The bustle
 at each point of call;
 passengers in every hall,
 following life’s
 continuous trend.
 Departure times
 come not too late
 for everyone
 that must await
 A start of each 
 and every end.