Epitaph

Somehow I’m finding it quite hard
To feel bad for the latest one,
This one, it seems, will die quite soon.

She was well-known; fat, plump, perhaps
Not clever, but everyone turned
To her at times: she had her use

From most – not quality, all knew,
But cheap and cheerful, close to home
For if you needed something quick.

Old, she was, too. I think that’s why
Some feel it more than others. Life’s
Constants, they say, should never let

You down, when you need them. But here
We are, she has, and soon will be
No more. The bells, I think, won’t ring.

But still a change will come into
The air, as subtly our faith
That what’s endured will never fail

Is broken; it’s a faith we should
Have never had. Now, countless souls
Stand limp, their bedrock tilled, and torn

Away. It’s no use telling them
The cause; even if they could know
The truth: that greed burns even th’ old.

That still would not their problems fix
Nor ease the sorrow at death’s tricks –
For where now is their Pic-n-mix?