On The Shivering Tor

Burn me, then,
When I am done
And scatter my ashes
On the shivering Tor.
Don’t bury my bones
In a dutiful hole.
Nothing of me
Will be left
At the end.
There was nothing much
At the start.
Nothing worth remembering.
Who remembers, anyway?
The last stone at Cheops
The first brick of my house.
Who made them?
Who laid them?
Who cares?
Don’t you see?
Bundy or Ghandi,
A millennium from now
They too will be
Fully forgotten
Like you and me.

2 thoughts on “On The Shivering Tor

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