A little man of no consequence
Whose whole life was spent on the margins,
His passing barely caused a ripple
In the flowing tides of existence,
And his substance was just a shadow
Briefly noticed and then forgotten
Like something on the edge of vision.
He had a name, of that I am sure
And he surely must have been loved once,
If only by his mother and father,
But even that is uncertain now,
For no record exists of his life
And nobody came to mourn his death,
This nowhere man of no consequence.