When I die,
may it be at mid-afternoon, in autumn.
May there be a a westerly breeze
carrying the scent of a burn barrel not much distant.
When I die,
lay my dog's old leash and collar across my hands.
If my life has had roses, sunflowers, asters,
leave me with simple mums
Like distracted children made to see off
an old auntie they hardly know
and who is less interesting
than today's red leaf, or tomorrow's taste of cider.
_____
for Sunday Muse #46
Oh my. Oh my my.
ReplyDeleteGosh!! Not for a long time, please.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written and thought provoking . . . :)
Sorry, wrong email used. This has the correct link . . . :)
ReplyDeleteToni--Like it, fren? It would please me no end if you did.
ReplyDeleteBlue--get it together, buster. We are very correct around here yanno. :-P
Oh. My. Goodness. Gob-smacked.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sherry old friend. :-)
ReplyDeleteA beautiful read, Shay.. beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI love the thought of taking my dog’s old leash with me. And the distracted children — getting on with life. Thank you for a beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteLOL
ReplyDeleteA really lovely read, Shay. :-)
ReplyDeleteWow Shay this is so beautiful in all of the sadness that it evokes. That second stanza really got to me! Kleenex's needed.....
ReplyDelete. .
. .
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To be remembered as a garden Mum, hardy and long lasting.
ReplyDeleteYes, I love the idea of being remembered with/as mums. They bloom in such lovely colors and even when frost hits them their roots push up new greenery and blooms when warm weather comes again. I am sure you are in no hurry to exit so don't. :)
ReplyDeleteGorgeous writing, Shay!
ReplyDeleteWow! I especially loved the "burn bucket" line, but I could copy and paste the whole thing into this comment and call it all "incredible."
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, everyone, for your kind comments!
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking there will also be peonies ~
ReplyDelete