If I die build me a monument
That people will love,
And birds will shit on.
Because the triumphs my hands have felt
Are no greater than the old man who breaks their bread.
But the world does not see his work.
They do not believe
the sparrows in the spring
sing his songs.
Instead, the mosquito bites they never scratched
Came from chemicals in a bottle, on a shelf, in a convenience store.
But he has inspired without speaking.
Moved without moving.
And these men don’t need statues or buildings.
because they sleep knowing their stories are a part
of those for which we build monuments.
Immortal, for all the world to forget.