Shrine

In the San Francisco Columbarium

Where the ashes of the dead lay

Behind brass nameplates

And clear glass displays

Little shrines made to loved ones lost

Lovers, parents and friends

Pictures of people so full of life

Before their bitter ends

In this hall of the cremated dead

Light pours through elegant stained glass

And aging, drying flowers

Remind me that I too will pass

I could think of a worse resting place

But what would my placard say

And what objects would those close to me choose

To place in my display

Can one really summarize a life

With photos, knick knacks and tokens

Can words describe a legacy

Is the idea fundamentally broken

And the awful truth about it is

That I'll never get to see

What those who I one day leave behind

Really thought of me