Who dared to tell me that I am more then I am and what made me think that I am so significant,
When once I did not even know I existed and once I curled into the warmth surrounding me,
Dependant on one I had not yet met although I instinctively recognised her as my mother.
Today, I am aware of my existence yet tomorrow,
I may be worm fodder. Six feet under
and these bones clothed with flesh will blacken until I am unrecognisable.
And those who love me will not know me.
Tomorrow a home will be built upon my bones
Not knowing I lie underneath,
Once thinking myself so high
Yet just as those before me,
I returned to my Maker.
I am worm buffet. Six feet under
and tomorrow I may return to my Maker.