Nor wealth, nor fame,
Nor progeny have I,
And when I slip
These churlish bonds to fly
To whither souls unfettered
Go to die,
No comet heralds my departure
'cross the sky.
Perhaps someday
A budding poet will find
This legacy of verse
I'll leave behind.
He'll see no wit nor wisdom
For the ages,
Or note my name writ large
In lists of sages.
If words have magic,
He'll read mine and believe
A life on stage and page
Was how I chose to live,
And when the time was come
For me to leave,
This winsome wealth of words
Was what I chose to give.