How many statesmen let you move their lips
  like creaking shutters while they stood there dazed?
What statues did you dedicate? What ships
  were launched on winds a little money raised?

Old whisperer, get you gone, give our ears ease...
  here, take your gibber with you. You’ve
graven your tombstone in officialese.
  Get under it. Go moan at one remove.

Incomplete spirit in a house laid waste,
  with thinning hands you tweeze threads from your sheet.
Little to hate is left of you. The priest
  forgives you, gives you flesh and blood to eat.