Who?
Do we ever really know who we really are?
Who?
Who am I?
Who knows? not I!
Perhaps, I’ll find out
when I die
When in the ground
cross armed I lie
and become
the congregation spy
Will friends and family
sincerely cry
Or, perhaps pretend
and also lie?
Will truths be heard
I now deny?
Or, will they say
‘Oh! What a guy!’
Will happy thoughts
of times gone by
Just turn to thoughts
of buffet pie?
And, later,
will sozzled minds deny
that there ever was
such a thing as I!
So, I guess I’ll go
up to the sky
Still wondering
Who was I?
©️ Stephen W Atkinson 2022
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