There is a sad fascination

There is a sad fascination
In watching a man digging his own tomb.
He protests that he is not
But the graveyard plot
Will consume his name.

He will apportion blame
(To others, for he is pure as the driven snow)
And will go
On digging his own grave.
(Though he could himself save
Had he the courage to gaze
In the glass and view
The situation as others do).

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