Nothing remains there anymore,perhaps few stains on the floor where the body lay,sadly,
badly scrubbed and faint signs where death outlines in multicoloured decadence,his eminence,the one who went when wings lent him the final flight.

Tomorrow night they'll hold a wake and take a minute to remember him,whose hold on life was getting slim ,and it was time for him to go,but they will show due deference to what was once his eminence,then stuff their maws and fill their paws with good food and fine wine.

It happens all the time don't be surprised, for when the time comes that you fly away,they'll have a pray and settle in, to eat what's left in your bread bin.
Then they'll go too,they always do
but who will hold a wake for them?
Worry not,
for there are always men to feast upon the dead.