There are no gods.
Men are but sods
In the end
My friend.

Yet we strive
To stay alive.
And some pretend
That there are gods.
But we are sods
In the end
My friend.

Though, the poet’s work may survive
Long after his eyes
Have closed.
And, who knows,
Perchance he may find, at his end
That we are more than mere
Sods.

Yet I fear
That there are no gods.
And we are but sods
In the end
My friend.