He died as he was born, with nothing to his name
Except the dwindling will to live a life full of the unknown.
Never did they tell him from whence he came,
But still he smiled at the knowledge of who he wasn’t.
A wandering life was lead, a life full of blame,
And yet through it he continually smiled at his fate.
In death, as in life, there were but two to watch his frail frame
As it was lowered into the grey rain-sodden earth.
They were same two he begat who never felt the pain
Of living a life without a name.