No Grave To Hide the Death Of A Red Stag Poem by john (called jack) wren

No grave to hide his bone or skin
No place beneath wet sod for him,
The proud body that served him well
Is left to others on life's carousel
No tears were shed at his demise
No sound was heard to advertise
To all and sundry passing by
At his death, none, did cry.
He lies reclined and at peace
A poor decaying masterpiece,
His life now so bittersweet
Even the dust, has left his feet.
One moves quickly in the race
Instinctively to take his place,
As he did at a past demise
With celerity to take the prize
Of undisputed leader of the pack
His name entered in an almanac
Yearly throughout his reign
Until death enters the campaign.
To clean his slate at a glance
And put to sleep his dominance.
Then, left with no grave to hide
He and the earth, lay side by side.