It nearly cancels my fear of death, my dearest said, When I think of cremation. To rot in the earth Is a loathsome end, but to roar up in flame—besides, I am used to it, I have flamed with love or fury so often in my life, No wonder my body is tired, no wonder it is dying. We had a great joy of my body. Scatter the ashes. Submitted by Holt
Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 27 Apr 2017 10:51 AM | Viewed: 8983 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only
For more information...