Fames Are Made To Fade

Whilst proudest of graves get green coat of moss, Greedy goats browsing on shoots tender green, Fames are made to fade— fainter like dull floss, And undercoat of graves gets grey and lean. The seeds of fame sown as fail to flower, As heads of footstones sink in, lose their prime, As red brick-work blackens further with time, Weeds wanton are and above all tower. Even pages of a poet's famed tomes Get yellowed and frail moving hoary homes, Fated to get sold, recycled as waste, At last get melted into pulpy paste. Once more to be a blank paper again, Get washed all clean lofty, lyrical words— Much like the home-turning migrating birds— O ready to sing new song, new refrain. As grey lichens leach on tomb-stone's nameplate, The crisp name and date to obliterate, Best of names do one day die with their fame, Loftiest life returns to dust the same. _____________________________________________________ Musings | 06.08.11 |