Ipse Requie Poem by John Bliven Morin

I'd like to die in September,
For die I eventually must,
When Connecticut's leaves, I remember,
Are beginning to turn into rust;
And Coronado's barrier island
Has battled her hurricanes all,
And our home was safe on the high land;
Yes, I'd like to go in the fall.
When the pecans are coming in season
By Chattahoochee's shore,
And these Islands, for God's love and reason,
Where the wind and the surf can both roar.
It's the month of my birth and my mother's,
It's the time I would joyfully go;
I can leave this old world to you others,
Free of pain, free of care, free of woe.
So, Dear God, if you're list'ning in Heaven,
One last blessing I ask of You now;
I thank You for all You have given,
And for all that I've left to endow.
Please let me die in September,
With blessings to all that I love,
And when this old body's an ember,
Let my soul be in Heaven above.