Change is the Only Constant

I am nothing. I will be gone.
What I do will not matter long,
Time will persist and extinguish
That which I labor will perish,
Men boast, “I did this and I did that”,
But who was this and who was that?
As I walk along the graveyard,
I see their names engraved by hand:
Edward, Mary, Thomas, and Stan
Steven, Carrie, Tim and Dan
Born in 1863 and died in 1922
Nothing remains but a stone that homes
A few field mice and a casket of bones,
What will one see in 2098,
When they walk by my fateful date?
And even if they recall a man,
Of strict integrity, who took a hero’s stand!
What will one see in 9098?
Wont that stone and casket disintegrate?
Nothing will remain save a last sting of pain,
When a piece of sand dislodged by rain,
Blows from that once mighty stone now erased,
Blows against an unwrapped face,
A tribute to my time on Earth,
A lasting remnant of my scornful birth.