The Grave

 Yesterday morning, while wandering about alone in a pine forest, I amused myself by piling up a small sandhill under an old pine tree.

"Let this be my own grave." said I.

Picking up a piece of white stone, I scribbled my name on it and said, "Let this be my own gravestone."

On either side of the grave, I transplanted a pine sapling to keep it company.

This morning, recalling the grave, I went to pay a visit to it.

But the grave was nowhere to be found though I searched every nook and corner of the dense forest. Where was it gone to?

O ye remains of my yesterday's dead self, it was your own soul that had come to mourn at the grave! Where was my grave gone to?

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