Ouch. A graveyard with headstones:
…carved mottoless with simple names and dates as though there had been nothing even their mourners remembered of them than that they had lived and they had died…
From William Faulkner’s only mystery novel, Intruder in the Dust.
Epitaph for a comedian:
Three worms walk into a bar…
Strolling down the lane with the Buddha,
Once a life, always alive.
An epitaph for Boink:
Peace, love, and asparagus.
Disgruntled past the end.
Was that all there was?
A final disclaimer.
It wasn’t always like this for me.
Death. The last word in writer’s block.