.

Oh I feel I will die sometime this afternoon,

I know I shall be dead by the end of the year;

But it does not matter

I do not really care

For I shall live again

In each and every tear

Of all those whom I dear

To deride or flatter,

For you I leave this stare :

A final awkward stain;

Under the starless sky of the midday moon

And surely in a way that most would find queer.

.

Why? But why not?