THE HEDGEHOG

i am the hedgehog
   dying hour by hour
   thorns falling out
        one by one
    without anyone
         nor anything
         noticing.

   yes, i die little by little
   for my pile of leaves 
        is burning like reed
   and by the second the degrees heat
   and in a fortnight
    the pile of leaves will give away
    to the match and phosphor of nature.

we all die, and so i shall too, 
      the little hedgehog...
   and i will die a lonely 
    and burdened wanderer,
   now that my pile of leaves 
   has turned to walpurgis ash - 

but is it not beautiful
  that the nails of the corpse keep on growing after death,
   and that the memories of great deeds also echo,
         atleast for a while -
           until they too drop off the frequencies
           and becomes lost
           in the white noise static
           of all meaningful happenings unremembered,
           adding to a history
           of lost and buried greatness...