One man's remorse is another man's reminiscence.
When I ponder my mind I consistently find It is glued On food.
Beneath this slab John Brown is stowed. He watched the ads, And not the road.
I'm like a backward berry, Unripened on the vine, For all my friends are fifty, And I'm only forty-nine.
People expect old men to die, They do not really mourn old men. Old men are different. People look At them with eyes that wonder when ... People watch with unshocked eyes; But the old men know when an old man dies.
No matter how deep and dark your pit, how dank your shroud, their heads are heroically unbloody and unbowed.