The Last Man On Earth by S. E. Johnson

The Last Man On Earth

Faded bluejeans and a t-shirt.
He stood alone a shovel in his hand,
Toiling as he always did day after day,
He no longer noticed the empty land.

His voice was a stranger to him now,
The sound of wind through trees,
The only music he ever heard.
His patients fading by degrees.

Too long since he buried the dog,
The last dog and the last cat,
An empty horizon loomed ahead,
He expected nothing but that.

The sun turned his skin to leather,
His hair bleached white,
The earth waited for him to come,
As he fell asleep in the night.

He knew it would receive him gladly,
It had accepted all men,
But he was the last of his kind,
The earth knew men wouldn't come again.

His thoughts turned inward,
The night sky held no promise,
He smiled as he thought of his death,
None would remember his name was Thomas.

In the morning it rained on the earth,
As the last man slept the eternal sleep,
The wind blew across his garden,
Mournfully the world began to weep.

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