A Pauper's Grave
A Pauper’s Grave
A pile of rocks upon a hill
Comes a sad and bitter chill
As winter settles in, for summer’s lost
And frost covers the old rusty cross
A pauper’s grave with no one there
From a quiet funeral with none to care
He died alone as he lived alone
On crowded streets, his only home
Mausoleums with roses and nobility’s décor
Mourners grieve as they crowd around the door
Royalty lies in their finest in red velvet caskets
But going above with nothing in their baskets
Paupers and kings rise up from the same mold
Of flesh and bones that live until too old
Nature’s sad farewell to both of the same
From different houses, but of heavenly fame
Death knows no other but of worn out flesh
Within mausoleums and pauper’s graves
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