Thar She Blows
Afraid of dying? Have to wait to see.
But when death’s finally out of my way,
there’ll be no gravestones with epitaphs for me.
I won’t be buried in no body’s grave.
Burn me. My ashes scatter,
preferably somewhere beautiful near the sea
or in it for that matter.
that’ll be my choice when it’s time to go.
And if scattering’s still illegal
bake me up in a loaf of sour dough
then toss me to soaring sea gulls.
for they’re sure to scatter me far and wide.
Later, if sadness overtakes you,
head for a place where strong trees abound.
After, a tear or two, breathe
draw in strength from nature all around.
Then stand, face the wind…
my embrace, welcome dear friend.
©March 2011_M. Anita Bailey_revised