“I will bury you,”
Should only be said
By the Earth below us,
And the Sky above;
“I shall outlast you,”
Should be spoken only
By the birds and the bees,
And perhaps the leaves on the trees,
For all that remains of a man
When he is long-gone
Is the whisper of his memory
Along the cosmic wings of time,
And, of course, the planet
That became his tomb,
Busy growing and changing,
Too vast and ancient
To see his life as greatness,
Yet too resilient
To mourn him.
You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com
