This mound of earth
This dust
Whose strength lies
Only in the breath
It takes
Boasts
Of its power
Fleeting
Like the breeze
Lasting for a brief time
Useless like the burnt out
Stub of a cigarette;

Man is the breath he takes
His flesh and blood
Are like that of the basest animal,
He deceases and rots
The moment
There's no more air
In his blood stream
Then where lies the power
behind the boast?