by Jason John Bartholomew
February 14, 2017
Who will lie here beneath your name?
Who will gather around to mourn?
Who will fake their flood of tears
to try and mask their bitter scorn?
Who will never come to know
always wishing that they had?
How many will say the kindest things?
How many only so glad to repeat the bad?
Who will return again in a year
to lay a flower on the cold stone here?
Will some come still yet in five?
Will any come their whole lives?
Back in warm rooms among the living,
is yours a story that keeps on giving?
Will some who never did you meet
know your name and say it sweet?
Throngs, crowds, a few, or none
won’t be the measure of how you’ve done.
But if there were only to be one
with today’s breath what would you have done?
Go, do that then while there’s still Sun!