When My Bones Are Stones

When my bones are stones
Will anyone intone
For me? Or note a legacy?

When my bones are stones
Will my descendants own
The earth around, above me?

When my bones are stones
Spirit long since flown
This garment on loan
Then stone, alone —

When my bones are stones
Will there once more be thrones
Or clones, and drones?
Yeats, will there still be that widening cone?

And how will those plots of stones be zoned?
Will metallic monsters of industry groan?
Or seeds above me thickly sewn?
Or weeds above me simply blown?
Or lovers moan
Above those stones?

When my bones are stones
Will the sun have shone
Its last reddish tone?
Or still nourish with its rays
That noble reddish roan?
It isn’t known.

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This entry was posted in Poems.

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