A Poet's Funeral Poem by Amar Agarwala

I had to write my elegy
And my obituary too,
Wonder who would sing my dirge -
Of that I have not a clue!

An old coffin they found for me
A shroud that had better days,
My last rites shoddily done,
But such are the worldly ways;

An old pastor ministering
Grave-diggers waiting beside,
Thank heavens for mercies small
And this poor morsel of pride;

Deemed useless to the human race
My verses sniggered with jest,
No tributes they fetched for me
Save this wooded yard to rest;

Once I wrote for the mortal world
To be berated instead,
Hence, I will now change my ways
And I shall write for the dead.
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