Some things are etched in stone, others only imagine things etched in stone. Like Ben Franklin's Epitaph, which in the romance of our own thoughts, he imagined up sometime just after midnight as he stared out the window into a distant brewing thunderstorm. Maybe his thumb lovingly grazed the cover of a favorite book as flashes of brief light illuminated the shadows of his features. 

Anyway, his epitaph is interesting. Especially in light of Forrest's recent question and answer with Jenny on Mysterious Writings. You know, the one about how things rubbed after time change the appearance of things. 

Here's the mock epitaph a still young BF (that's what I want to call him) conjured up on that imagined night so long ago:

The Body of 

B. Franklin, Printer,

Like the Cover of an old Book,

Its Contents torn out,

And stript of its Lettering and Gilding,

Lies here, Food for Worms.

But the Work shall not be whlly lost:

For it will, as he believ'd, appear once more,

In a new & more perfect Edition,

Corrected and Amended

By the Author.

Here is the epitaph in BF's own handwriting:

​​And here is a plaque with the epitaph:

And here's an old timey article with the epitaph:

The funny thing is that this epitaph, though clearly beloved by many, was not what an older and wiser BF wanted his headstone to read. In his will, he clearly stated how he wanted his headstone, and his wishes were carried out. He simply wanted to lie beside his wife in eternal rest. 

Epitaph's, both real and those thought up in one's youth, can be interesting, can't they? What would yours say? I haven't thought much about mine. Maybe I should, before I get too old. It would be sorta cool to look back if, God willing, I live to an old age and see how my thoughts have wizened over the years.

In other news, things are becoming clearer...

And James arrives today!