Touch of the marble

Cold on the back

Freezing air in the morgue

Lying lifeless

On the table

Naked to the skin

Some one jokes

About the corpse

Did he live

A beautiful life

Did he sing, did he dance

Did he write, poems sweet

Of lasting, tender romance

It hurts too much

Than the scalpel stabs

People talking

At your back

Comparing all one’s Attributes

With other corpses

Lying dead

As one waits

For the scalpel strike

Opening one’s


As strangers watch

And talk about

You die your second

And final death