Echo Poem by Mark Sauer

When the stone urn that cupped my dust, is dust;
When all the names that knew mine are forgot;
When the tongue that follows English is lost
To learning; when these letters are mere jot
And cryptic scribble - let one thing remain.
Let one act of my charity echo
Nameless but unbroken down through the chain
Of lives; let just one kindness of mine grow
And engender, however rare the sire.
Nurture it faithfully through every link,
Tend one random goodness like vestal fire,
Suffer it to last to the utter brink.
Keep one trace of my love ‘til all is done;
For me, and for my sins, oblivion