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Go softly, children: flit away
And ride the howls of history;
Sweet morsels never mangled by
The monstrous mouths of eulogists,
Let not the archeologists
Disrupt your voyage with their praise,
Nor cast gilt rays of honor on
Those two-bit blowhards of the stage,
But travel on; be not admired
By muddled reciters and essay-writers,
Who garble words and nose out meanings
Where other designs underpin the keenings.
Return to me but one more time:
To etch my epitaph in rhyme.