When I die
I don't want it to be
In a grand olde room
Surrounded by children
And children's children
I want to be in an ocean
Night time black
Naked and warm
Thinking of lovers, my bedded darlings
Thinking of books, my Prousts and Kerouacs
I want my life to ebb and flow
From me
To the dark blue sea
Borne back
Ceaselessly into places of yours and mine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem