A dying man-too brief, so sad,
His gravestone read: 'I wish I had.'
Heretofore when alive and rigidly upright,
He was always unbending-and more stiff at the end,
So much so that as he lay in the coffin-
He still wouldn't to bend.
And they who wept and wailed at his new rest
Knew none of his wicked past deeds-
Just of his new depths.
(Thus the celestial epitaph that the heavens would write-
would not be forgotten or blurred, as he rode into night) ;
And the only endowment which eternity would now sow
Would reap with him only-
Declaring: God only knows.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem