When I run out of time,
Which is to say effort,
My only regret will be,
There won’t be anyone left around,
Cynical enough to confirm,
Which is to say put letters to the whispers,
Just how quickly you forgot about me.
Let me just say,
Please don’t read see this as bitter,
When the nametag of pedant fits better.
No one is going to hold it against you,
For forgetting a man,
Who couldn’t be bothered to remember himself.