Anonymous

No wind shall bear my name nor fire blaze
In honour of my loss before the crows
Pick at the wasted flesh that longed to laze,
Defiant of the path the deep-heeled shows.
I pick a word and toss it to the sea
Hoping to spread a lie that blossoms true,
Yet still is fortune numb regarding me
For salted water grows not joy nor rue.
Yet, free of that capricious eye, what may
Become the slighted hand who pens his will
In line on line until his final day,
Bequeathing all to...