You can't take it with you, it's often said,
And it's a cold and sober truth.
Nothing will you own when final dead,
Not brain nor eyes or tooth.

For not only will life's chattels be gone,
But the container you're within.
And all which for life you depend upon,
It's for Mother Earth, both loss and win.

Not even your atoms will you then possess,
As you're dismantled one by one.
You'll be what you were before born no less,
When yet to first see sky and sun.

You'll then only be what you left behind,
Which others kept to hold and cherish.
Memories, but of the true you blind,
Until they too will die and perish.