We   are the echoes of those Famous
Long ago.  We are the little people
But never little to ourselves.  Born
At the end of an age we were last but
First dying.  Dysfunctional.  The last
Breath to give voice mortal -crying for
Immortality.  Crying for immortality
Not for ourselves alone but for all of
The other little people who cried out
In elegy their meaning of being lost
Unheard were  still famous long ago.