The Day He Died Poem by Amar Agarwala

It was a dark cold day when he died
And there was none save me who had cried,
Perhaps also that old willow proud
Which felt melancholy deep inside.

He was buried under its wide shade
No dirges sung as he was laid,
Sans mourners to mark his journey's end
Who for his enlightened soul have prayed.

A poet he was, a wizened soul
The welfare of men his only goal,
Doling life-long his verses of cheer
Wry men knowing not his divine role.

It's shambling pity that mortals all
Have only known how to beg and crawl,
Oblivious to givers around
Their lives shrouded by a gloomy pall.
***************