Passerby, the slab piled over me is low
to the ground, nor much to see. Be that as it is,
good man, hail Philaenis! Her singing locust
was I, who used to crawl from thorn to thorn,
the reedy bug she fussed over and loved
for two whole years of my anthemic racket.
At my death, her care lived on, and over me she reared
this little monument to resourcefulness in song.
Leonidas of Tarentum (Greek Anthology 7.198)
