The toil doesn’t cease with the final bow;

That, we know,

Is the genesis of the show.

For the carcass takes a leisurely snooze,

Inviting a legion of riotous maggots

To its sanctum

With the vapid impunity of the booze.

Soon, mud impregnates flesh

To procreate more mud,

Providing meat for consummate bacteria

And rascally weeds to come on board

Soon, birds start to shit and veer

In pursuit of frightened rodents

Tearing out of their tents.

And so, the cycle continues unabated,

As nature watches with breath, bated.

Even then, the soul, must, to its Maker

Return for re-deployment;

Never to the undertaker.