241 – A Poet’s Final Resting Place

Bury me not in a mausoleum
Where they visit like a museum
Only to be left alone
Surrounded by blocks of stone

Bury me where the beauty of spring
Will bring me a carpet of clover
To cover me over

Bury me where the shadows fall
On a bright  summer day
Let them rest where I lay

Bury me where the autumn leaves fall
Let their bright colors
Spread a blanket of pall

Bury me where the snow
Brings a blanket of white
To warm me on a cold winter night

A place where the squirrels rabbits butterflies
Come to visit
Where the birds sing my song
A place where I belong
A place where I’ll never be alone
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“For behold,the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.
The flowers have already appeared in the land;
The time has arrived for pruning the vines,
And the voice of the turtledove has been heard
In our land.
The fig tree has ripened its figs,
And the vines in blossom have given forth
Their fragrance…”

The Song of Solomon
(2:11-13)

 

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