Memento Mori

 MEMENTO MORI

Each tarnished trophy once told a story

            Of proud and joyous glory.

Once, adoring crowds cheered

            The young champion

                        As he held his gleaming trophy

            High against the sky.

So, too, did shouting throngs

            Acclaim their victorious generals

As they rode in bold triumph

            Through the old streets of Rome.

But that ancient glory wasn't meant to last.

            Behind those Roman generals

                        In their golden chariots

                                    Stood a slave

Holding the laurel wreath of victory

            High over the victor's head,

                        While whispering in his ear,

            "This, too, shall pass."

So now, each tarnished trophy

            Lies mixed with the rest

                        In a box of forgotten glory,

                                    Rusting in the rain.