Past this window, traffic coming, Sun lit dirty pane, computer humming. It will all be here after I die.
See these people, busy working, Talking, walking and conversing. They will forget me after I die.
Dust motes settle on the floor, Curtains move gently beside the door.
When I leave it the world will cry, But the ripples I cause will settle and die, And loved ones I know will somehow get by.