Where is the earth

from which I was born?

Which is the ash

of my birth?

 

How was the dust

from which I was thrust,

given breath and

life and girth?

 

Was it magical mixing

with bell and book,

plus the grace of a god

with a whim?

 

Or the sweaty poking

my mother took,

from my dad who

was drunken and grim?

 

Am I the mystical

gift of grace,

from a merciful lord

beaming down?

 

Or do I fill,

my dead brother's place?

Just to lighten

my parents frown?

 

When I am cast,

back to the earth,

the ash and the

dust in the ground.

 

Will I be told what

my life was worth?

Or will it just end

in that mound?