Literature
He Carves His Name in Alabaste
He carves his name in alabaster
Dares not serve another master
He is his own, he wants alone
For purpose, fame and wealth all known.
He spends his days in solitude
Gives nothing in fear to loose
Day and night he carves away
There is he, his mark, his name.
Yet the years go dwindling by
A telling moon rises on high
Does he notice, does he care?
For has done work so fair.
When he grows old, he does realize
As he looks oer earth with cold eyes
His fellow men do come and go,
What their names were, he neer shall know
Earth herself seems not ot care.
If they were all gone, the better for her!
Even the greatest man