Ode to the Unkown

When I am old and I start to fade,
I hope that I will not be forgotten.
That somewhere somehow,
Someone remembers,
I did something in passing.
And it will be,
Nothing but a whisper,
Because few would hear it,
Or remember that they even heard it.
My name will not evoke,
Strong memories of joy or pain.
But just a mere anecdote for
Someone to laugh at,
Or think why mention him or her.
And that day,
Will be a far time after my passing,
Years beyond the day nature retook my body and soul.
And after that moment,
I would truly cease to exist,
Because in my life,
There was not much of me,
To begin with.