What homage lies in graven granite stone

Smooth-etched in polished words to hail a life

Till creeping vines shall cover it anon,

Obscuring hallowed shrine in verdant strife?

The grit of age will yet such markers grind

Into the sand from which all life is made;

And vandals rude may topple them in time—

Abetting  fate’s harsh purpose to abrade.

All monuments erected meet their end

Erasing every vaunted tribute claimed;

What icons raised to mortal worth commend

Will stand to beckon heaven’s light proclaimed?

Despite proud yearnings, every being must

Consign to fate, and so concede to dust.