Dead Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

The old man's dead -
Silence has sealed his lips,
Idleness has stolen his hands.
His stubbornness
Couldn't stop mean Mr. Death.

His garden has gone to weed.
His children grown and gone.
His wife's been buried before him.
Take him away
And put him in the ground,
He's no good to anyone now.

There will come a day
Not so very distantly,
When no one will remember him at all,
When his name will be
A withering weed in the graveyard,
A weak whisper on the wind.

He's dead,
And no one gives a damn.