The vultures wish

A poem I wrote.

The vulture was waiting assiduously,
 so I thought for all its effort I might as well wait.
It had taken years to get here,
but it was far too late.

For I had not anticipated its haunting words,
such pain and suffering for only a bird.
the task I do is a necessary evil it crowed,
if not whose body's would be disposed?

It cocked its head and just before it flew off it told me one more thing,
 naively I listened ready for it to sing.
Is it ironic when I die and myself consumed,
 does my death have any meaning something to be rued?

Death does not stop for any man women or child,
but humans mourn there own for a while.
And as it flew away a most seemingly daft thought occurred to me,
if we are to be left and forgotten in a ditch,
we should we at least be thankful for an animals wish.