My Futile Burial

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They bury me in marble,
They bury me in gold.
On a pillow, they say,
I’ll rest my soul,
But no matter rich or poor,
Whether dead in a ditch,
Or behind a golden door;
The gold or the marble,
Will let my body rest,
But no earthly bauble
Will contain my soul. At best,
It will make my rotting corpse more pretty,
For those who ask: “He lived a full life, did he?”

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