WHERE HEROES LIE
I've tried to portray with the aid of the pen The last resting place of two different men, Divergent in life, one humble, one great,
They both passed in death through the same little gate. Neath six feet of earth they now lie asleep;
Their friends and their neighbours have long ceased to weep; The hoarse blasts of winter hurl snow o'er the ground, The soft summer zephyr caresses each mound; In nature's embrace no difference they find, It leaves class distinction to fickle mankind.