Sapped of production capacity for tonight

Initially I felt like writing a decent blog entry tonight, but upon sitting down at my computer I found my mind wandering to stories and themes I would like to explore in depth at a later date; nothing sprang to mind that would suit a quick blog post. Besides, I'm tired from studying and generally overcome with evening lassitude, so here instead is a poem that I wrote about three years ago. I don't write poetry, by the way. Let's just get our excuses out in the open beforehand.

Tender is the breath that blows
The fine powdery dust from the stone;
What words there linger on the slab
That marks a passage to a lasting home?

Carved in the granite, defying the flow
Of time with an ebb of the infinite,
The words bespeak the works and days
Of a tireless body and the soul within it.

Words to sum, words to conclude --
What do they say, those sentinels
Of a singular history? What ink did
This life score in the world's annals?

Ah -- a closer look reveals that
The space for summary remains yet blank;
So still I can choose: what grave words
Will encapsulate me once my corpse is cold and dank?