‘Twill be the same, the same
(I told him, when he was living),
A wood or marble tomb—
In a hundred years, let’s say
Or a hundred so called days
What matters to he,
(He will be dead)—?
A pompous monument
Will be of no good—yet
He built it out of Marble
(Nonetheless), not wood!
Your name will be forgotten
Amongst the rubbish and roots
O’er rotting dampness; and
Who will clean your tomb?
(I asked him all these things
Before he died; and he never
Did reply—and built his tomb
Of marble, admiring its size!)
You—in there, in that tomb
!
You cannot hear a thing—!!!!!
And out here they’re building
Yes
another mausoleum
For another rich man
!