The sands of time are slipping fast
What will people think of me?
When the bottom half has been filled up
And the top half is empty

Will I have been much loved?
Or indeed will I be missed?
Will they speak fondly of me?
Or forget that I did exist?

Will my family tend my resting place?
Where I've been sleeping for a time
Or will my grave remain unkept?
Now I'm out of sight and out of mind