An outsized statue, standing tall
It sits in a park or monument hall.
It speaks of valor in times now past.
I wonder how long the memory can last.
Eventually, the pigeons will come to sit
And leave their opinion, in a pile of spit.
For grandeur in life is a fleeting thing.
Soon lost in clamor the new age will bring.
There is a moral here for us to bethink
That all things mortal pass in a blink.
So lead not your life in pursuit of gain.
It doesn’t last, washes way with the rain.
The pigeons perhaps are telling us true
That popular accord is not something new.
So, if you wish a remembrance to be had,
Then help out another, perhaps a young lad.
For he will remember and pass it along,
That you spent your life in an elegant song.
And those who come after him will be told.
That you were worthy, someone to behold.
And of course, you will no longer now dread
That a pigeon will come to sit on your head.
And give final judgement to a life’s testament
That none remember or care to lament.
Joseph Xavier Martin