At Eighty Years

 As nothingness draws near
 How I can see
Inexorably clear
 My vanity.

My sum of worthiness
 Always so small,
Dwindles from less to less
 To none at all.


As grisly destiny
 Claims me at last,
How grievous seem to me
 Sins of my past!
How keen a conscience edge
 Can come to be!
How pitiless the dredge
 Of memory!

Ye proud ones of the earth
 Who count your gains,
What cherish you of worth
 For all your pains?
E'er death shall slam the door,
 Will you, like me,
Face fate and count the score--
 FUTILITY.

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