At Sandhya did

They drag from rain swollen clay

His rotten hulk

Demanding him to

Surrect, and roping his neck

Led him to temple.

“Have not I earned my

Rest?” he quailed, drawing sniggers,

“For your comfort we

Care not,” they called back, “our need

Trumps your want!” He begged

“Was not my death for

You sufficient?” No answer

Gave they , as they forced

His hands to lift the

Posts, constructing their house of

God, and he wondered

How many years his

Dead flesh would sustain, for when

It crumbled to dust,

He could depart and

Never be returned to this

Putrescent world.

(Image from Klarion #1, DC comics)