See life approach last canticle hour
death’s dreary dark its fickle glower.
When pain sets forth to show its power
in minded mourning of its senses.

What man can say by truth or lie
the wished day that he should die.
Or calamity such, fa’ frae yon sky
when he were best, afore it.

It makes nae sense tae grieve its time
or stricture set tae some sad rhyme.
Our Pluto gives nae thought tae grime
on such dark journey, paid and waiting.

So doff yer hats all ye who can
if nae its poem, then at least the man.
Who lived by words, his allotted span
and gave nae thought to greatness.

Mor.