Posterity
Legend claims him as her own,from humble home, to crumbled castle;
and tongues still murmur of his deeds,
his twinkle eyes and cheery charm.
He fought his brawls,
he paved his way,
sold his grandma her own eggs
and watered down the bar room dregs.
Rose to stature,
increased in girth,
gained the perfect
manicured wife.
Fine foods, fine wine
and fancy ways,
he loved to guzzle and consume.
Yet now a stone
in village square,
where bronzed plaque
bears his name.
It is the focal
and relief
from every drunkard
to passing stray.
I wonder as I take my walk,
and stop, peruse,
what would he say?
I think he'd laugh,
a belly laugh,
and ask the question
On my lips;
"Ah posterity!" he'd say
"at least the wildlife
make their mark."
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2008-03-08 at 09:18
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