When comes the day for me to die
And in some distant graveyard lie
Might not you hear this poem read
As earth is shoveled o’er my head.
While gently lowered into the ground
And to eternity surely bound
Might not aloud this poem be read
To all with ears, alive or dead.
If ears you have for an old man’s lament
Bury me neither in steel nor cement
Lay me to rest in Mother Nature’s creation
Skip the toasting and roasting called cremation.
Return me to land which is fertile to seed
Soil that provides nutrients upon which to feed
Earth in which flowers root, bloom and bud
Dirt that raindrops turn to muck and mud.
Let Father Time my body decompose
As over it some stately green tree grows
Allow me to be nutrient for worm and vine
As earthly roots my body soon entwine.
One last request I’ll make of you today
While still alive and on bent knee can pray
Might not this short poem by you be read
When from my lips no words are said?
John Crawford Copyright 2018 All Rights Reserved