You can kill a man,
You can kill his plans,
You can stop his hands
From helping him rise
To make his last stand,
And in their tracks -

Stop the feet that once ran.
But you can’t kill ideas of wisdom;
Or claim that they ever have risen,
Because unlike the man,
Who was stopped in his plan,
His ideas never fell
When the body was stricken.
And one can go madly insane,
Choosing not to block thoughts in his brain,
Because he surely won’t stop
Feeding worms once he rots
Twelve feet under,
Deep in the grave.

A man died without a warning or pant;
The amount of his knowledge was scant;
Despite the things he had sought

- Ideas he’d not!
And left without such things to grant.
But when a wise man was caught
In the cemet’ry lot
His brain, while it rots,
Feeds other men
With immortal thought.