Thursday, November 24, 2016
Handsome, my sepulchral lot,
to lie within a churchyard plot,
to close my eyes in morbid air,
there is nothing I take with me there––
beneath the old ash tree.
My eyelids are now sealed forever,
no more to flutter––just encounter––
spirits of a better kind,
sojourned to my pallid mind.
I have died from sea to sea,
where I cried with morning's icy throng
and evening's tea.
There was a tear
that fell into my cup;
no more to handle,
I have lived enough.
What are our perceptions of death, and how things are after our life has been lived? Remember, life on earth is not the dress rehearsal. We have time to live now, and we should make the most of every day.