Very nice. I especially enjoyed these lines:
Of the somber procession upon the hill
Backlit by a tired sun— The busy insects will
Eat what is left, the scuttling carnivores,
Nature’s vacuum cleaners
At all. Maybe we will be like the egg in the nest in the crook of a branch
Of an expansive tree. Laying there in our nooks waiting to hatch again
To be filled with new thoughts, like the river’s changing gown,
We will become again something we never before were.
A very beautiful poem expressing your expectations from death. Excellent work.
Statistically you shall follow after me but, I'm almost sure, some branch of physics would have you following before me but, until either scenario comes to pass, we will not know if I shall be able to read your collected works on the far off bank of the river styx! !
Some very deep contemplation going on here, Robert. What is Death, afterall? We can only speculate, since we won't come back to tell about it, or maybe we will? In this lifetime or the next. Like 'an egg in the nest waiting to hatch again'........I like that concept. Nicely done, Robert.