He Was Mortal And Born To Die Poem by Francis Duggan

This morning his coffin was lowered to a hole in the ground
The wealthiest fellow for many miles around
All of his money did fail for to keep him alive
The scythe of the Reaper he failed to survive.

He did not hear the funeral bell for him ring
Or the singer at his grave a farewell dirge for him sing
With the town's deceased wealthy and poor he now forever lay
For all there is a last night and a last day.

For a few years unwell in fact he was quite ill
His middle aged daughter and son the beneficaries of his will
Money speaks every language or so it is said
Such words apply to the living but not to the dead.

In his early seventies pre- deceased by his wife
His money failed to bring him happiness in life
In his mind it did seem joy did not have a place
I never see him with a smile on his face.

This morning for him the eulogy was read
And tonight his bones lay in the ground of the dead
In life he made millions in money but facts never lie
That like all he was mortal and born to die.