Care, Hope, and Waste

Epitaph

No care is taken for it, Though I should not say none is there. Where I am, there is little hope, I mean. For years already I have presumed When I get into my car it will fail Or when I get into bed it will fall, Slats and all, But most of this never happens. No more do all my chairs Collapse beneath me when I sit. If I wait long enough, kill time till all but decay is past, Such descent will obviously come to pass. And though all the worry was always a waste, It will at last be clear to anyone's recall That I guessed right about the failure and the fall, But there'll be no one to congratulate.