[everyman]
There is something so profound
About Everyman, the things he does
Says, hears, dances and sings.
All those who go down in the
Annals of time as discoverers
Pioneers and saviors,
They are but the few that constitute
A multitude.
A number so great that not even
Physicists can calculate it.
Those are the ones who stayed in wedlock unhappily ever after,
For the kids
Or at a job they despised,
For the wife
Maybe with the sensible one instead of the one who made their heart skip
Perhaps forestalling the pursuit of their own dreams in order to help another achieve theirs
What do they get but nothing
Memories in ashes scattered at sea
In sad, quaint villages and burials
Where they are forgotten and
Buried by the coming of the perennial grass
Everyman deserves a pat on the back
A page in the books
Or better yet just a thank you.
