The Tomb of Hastings

For love of books, and coffee smell
You tried to keep my coffers well
Still I grew weak, and who could tell
The things I made, but couldn’t sell

Where patron’s hearts would go to melt
Within my walls, those souls had dwelt
Their product being what they felt,
Though pay, in full, was rarely dealt

I keep no grudge, no one’s to blame
For when the claws and hammers came
To gut and wrench, to bruise and maim
Until at last, they took my name

In life I rose, in death I sleep
Time presses on, it never keeps
never smiles, never weeps,
But slowly, ever slowly creeps

This tomb is all that’s left, too late
What secrets lay within my gates
Be swift old friend, you mustn’t wait…

…until at last you share my fate.