Poet's Epitaph Poem by Eric Cockrell

i see the lights of a far distant shore.
i hear the moan of thundered skies.
i smell the perfume of rain not fallen.
i taste the lips of earth, and of trees.
i see the fire in cold artic winters.
i hear the words the wind desires.
i smell the scent of passion held back.
i taste the blood of coming death.
i see the dawn of the blackened cave.
i hear the weeping of mountains still.
i smell the coffin, and shovelled dirt.
i taste the spirit set free in flight!