Poem for April 13, 2027

I lay beneath the pine trees,

And looked aloft, where, through

The dusky, clustered tree-tops,

Gleamed rent, gay rifts of blue.

I shut my eyes, and a fancy

Fluttered my sense around:

"I lie here dead and buried,

And this is churchyard ground.

"I am at rest for ever;

Ended the stress and strife."

Straight I fell to and sorrowed

For the pitiful past life.

Right wronged, and knowledge wasted;

Wise labour spurned for ease;

The sloth and the sin and the failure;

Did I grow sad for these?

They had made me sad so often;

Not now they made me sad;

My heart was full of sorrow

For joy it never had.