The fire in the fireplace is low,
Burnt the wood and coal to ash.
You do not seem to miss the glow,
Your old face in darkness just a splash.
The spark has gone from your eyes,
No movement from your breast.
It came to me as no surprise,
That you have gone to your last rest.
Ninety years ago you were born,
You lived life to the very full.
Your body now old and worn,
No more the strength of a bull.
The family will come and say goodbye,
A funeral where prayers will be said
All will say you were a swell Guy,
And it is a pity that you are dead.
Only I will know the truth,
That you were gentle and wise,
You may have been old in the tooth,
This you managed to disguise,
When all the others are left,
From this sad house of mourning.
I will for one feel the cleft,
As I wait for the new day's dawning.
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Comments about this poem (Aged. by Bernard Shaw )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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