The leaves are sick and jaundiced, they <br /> Drift down the air; <br />December's sky is sodden grey, <br /> Dark with despair; <br />A bleary dawn will light anon <br /> A world of care. <br /> <br />My name is cut into a stone, <br /> No care have I; <br />The letters drool, as I alone <br /> Forgotten lie: <br />With weed my grave is overgrown, <br /> None cometh nigh. <br /> <br />A hundred hollow years will speed <br /> As I decay; <br />And I'll be comrade to the weed, <br /> Kin to the clay; <br />Until some hind in homing-need <br /> Will pass my way. <br /> <br />Until some lover seeking hearth <br /> With joy will see <br />My nameless stone sunk in the earth <br /> And it will be <br />The ruddy birth of childish mirth, <br /> And elder glee. <br /> <br />And none will dream it bore my name <br /> Decades ago; <br />A scribbling fool of little fame, <br /> Who loved life so . . . <br />Well, flesh is grass and Time must pass,-- <br /> Heigh ho! Heigh ho!<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hearth-stone/
