Daniel B. Silver



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