While visiting the grave of a friend I lost to God,

I found there one marked only by a tag.

Set in the sand on a thin steel rod,

With all the posture of a paper bag.

I paused, but soon after, passed this pathetic sight,

My thoughts on my own death to be,

And hoped deep within, when I’d lose my light,

That there would be a monument of me.

I came upon a statue, higher than myself,

Weighing at the base at least a ton.

I knew, very well, that my collected wealth,

Could make a bigger and a better one.

But soon I saw a woman crying,

A red rose in her hand

She fell as if her soul was dying,

Then calmly kissed the sand.

I noticed she was lying at the grave, I saw before.

The one with just a label there to show.

The one that by my pride, so quick I would ignore,

But then I greater wisdom I would know.

The greatest structure for a man, isn’t made of stone,

Erosion will alleviate its goal.

The thing that will survive is the love that he has shown.

-The true composition of the soul.