I don't want to die, on a dark dreary day,
Perhaps my soul will not find it's way.
I want to be buried when the sun is bright,
Maybe then my soul, can follow the light.
I don't want to die, on a December day,
I don't want to be cold, when I go away.
Let me be buried in the month of June,
Out in the Mojave, in my arid dunes.
I don't want to die, when the cold wind blows,
Or out at sea with the iceberg flows.
Let me be buried in mid July,
When you can't tell, if it's sweat they'll cry.
11/23/10 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another very good poem Juan, keep it up! Your written thoughts mirror my own feelings.