How lonely were you in that solitary grave atop the hill where the wind whistled now and then tousling the dry blades of grass and moulding the rusty boulders into eerie shapes where the vague echoes from the valley and from the hills beyond merged into the silence, the stillness
After that life of love of tumult and adulation I bet you'd come to love this solitude this quiet place to rest in peace while the wind erased your name from the headstone...
Until they brought the rest, shovelling every now and then and chanting from the book and then throwing clumps of sod disturbing you with their muffled sobs which the wind brought back a century later to me, now.