When I Am Dead Poem by Maria J. Andrade

When I am dead
and in another land,
will I forget how beautiful
the sun went down,
a bulbous, crimson, giant
waiting proud,
one moment more to be admired
before it fell, beyond the dark,
grey, lines of the receiving hills?

Will I forget how beautiful
your body felt, to sight and touch,
or how you chose to love me
year to year?
And will I miss shedding the tears,
from all I knew or didn't know?

Surely the poppy and the daffodil
will come again.
Some men will rise in love and
some in hate,
when all I ever was, is gone,
with none's regret.
And be this as it should,
or as it may,
but what of me,
will I forget?