There will be no basket of flowers
or flag flying at my grave
No bending, fixing, tractor
leaving marks by the wayside
No gravestone marker, two
vases pulled off my tombstone
or laminated pictures of me
smiling complete with a statue
of a favorite cement saint
No mallards feasting on worms,
or transient spiders buried deep
in those attached vases that hold
the seasonal flowers, the grass
growing over the fresh burial site
as soon as my body is lowered
to my place of final rest
No weeping, carrying on, arguements
or fighting over money that is not
mine or his or hers or theirs
No fanfares, or military salutes
while the flag is folded in honor
and handed over as a last possession
and the funeral director charges by
the hour, the family only acting
nice in respect for the moment
There will be just an urn of my
ashes to be dispensed by the bay
and someone singing of peaceful
things, the dash between the
lines, the dove flying back
home to where I belong,
and everyone partying like hell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem