A Jewel's Passing

So no more shall his haters hate For the veil of death has made it late To hate a soul that time has called To dine and wine in the city of gold. And his tombstone will eerily stand Above the grass on the watered land Where passers-by will donate a tear To mourn the passing of a jewel dear. And wayfaring aliens of kindlier blood Will cast their eyes above the mud To read the bold nineteen-thirty-nine And his two names in an italicized line. They will see there below two-zero-zero-nine, The time the grape was plucked from the vine. They will briefly standstill and belatedly mourn And recall that all must die that before was born. His only friends – the butterflies during the day And the crickets who with constant chirping pray, Will keep faithful watch over his desiccated bones Throughout his rest beneath the tireless stones.