Sitting by his gravestone I thought about his name-
A slate of stone is all that remains.
The man once loved, now dissolved in a memory

Of a man once revered and treasured by family.

One hundred years gone has taken this memory,

Stripped his kin and killed his legacy.
No one that knew him is left or remains
And only a history book might remember his claim.


I know one day I will join his bones
And leave those that I loved and loved me alone.

But who is so lucky to be immortalized in literature?
Nothing I've done deserves such an honor.