The Last of a Dead Man's Soul
A pen is lifted, a page is filled.
The purpose is a poem to build.
The pen is set down, the ink dried out.
The inspiration all worn-out.
A coat is taken, a man leaves,
Never to return from overseas.
The poem lies, the poem sleeps;
The man is gone but no one weeps.
A drawer opened, a poem found;
It is read, published, and bound.
The man is gone, the poem thrives,
A piece of him that survives.
A book is bought, a child finds,
reading the last of a dead man's mind.
The child recalls, the child controls
The last of a dead man's soul.