
My body left behind,
On land no longer mine,
Shall know, blood upon It’s brow,
Or a maggot on an earlobe,
Or salt between It’s toes
Shall the sylvan summer breeze
Warm my pallid face
Will the winter’s fierce lips
Keep me blushing red
Would they who make love to life
Watch over me too
Or am I one of those adages
Never to be new
How many years hence before It shall be found,
Will there be roses where I lay,
Or a bare patch of ground
How farther must one fall
To know the depths of men
And prove compassion is an art
And question this honest end:
Why people who love the light
Cannot fight for a piece of shade
Why they who talk of future
Never walk
Much far ahead
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