CLXXXVII

If all your muscles atrophy and die,

despite your works to counter their decay,

what will last longer than howe’er you lie

are all the deeds your muscles did by day.

For acts live on forevermore than bones,

despite our mighty coffins for their care.

We think that giving lost ones pretty homes

will keep them, and their goodness, in the air.

So weep not for your weary frame, O man,

despite the works you aren’t still to do.

Do something more concrete with what you can—

the permanence of work lives after you.

I do not know my lost ones by their frame,

but what of goodness sticks beside their name.