When I am dead within my grave;
My memory fixed by stone engraved;
Purchase not adjoining plot
To lie beside me as I rot;
Denied in life a bedded wife
And subject to much daily strife;
I refuse to bear that last offense
To lie in death with such pretense;
I who learned to sleep alone
Without your love within our home,
Found final peace in lonely rest
And came to know that I was blessed;
Nor would I like a boring worm,
A journeying slug, a wandering germ,
To intermingle our remains;
You who married just for name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a fun-filled satire, delightful read!