A tombstone with no name,
A child sent to a grave.
At the funeral, no one came.
In to the ground it sank
The coffin was made from bolsa plank,
Carved into to the wood,
The word sorry stood.

Sorrow that lay inside,
It was stolen from man’s pride.
To not know where we came,
Or to why we go away.

As the dirt is placed on top,
The child is forgotten,
Left to rot.