under the statue

beady mice scurry
around the tomb
chiseled rock gran
ite on sits the sullen worm
unching half-finished
unto the placid earth
only to meet his griz
zled friend the man they call
mirth
(in feeling)
he spied the small rock
(one big upon one small) as they fell
from pock
et
worm says to corpse
where do you dwe
ll?
in the carved gran
ite i sleep day and night
half chiseled half rusty i sleep
twice each nig
ht.