When at end this door
closes,
Your lights deem out like fading
roses,
Arrayed, with birds rhyming your
name,
And echoing your gains and earthly
fame,
How long, how wide will be your
casket,
Your take away cannot load up a
basket.
You may have sprung from
wells of poverty,
Yet gained the spoils of wealth
and prosperity,
Much Gold, Much help, Much of
all and all,
That had you protected, to prevent
any fall,
Yet how large, how strong can be
your casket,
Your gains to take, cannot
fill a basket.
Yes, you will shed your gold
all behind,
And all you acquired and gained
in kind,
Not forgetting the container, you
resided in,
With all the breath you had
within,
And will travel this final road
alone,
To reckon with your maker yourself,
alone.
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