Poet: Edna St. Vincent Millay
Comment 4 of 4, added on July 18th, 2014 at 7:26 PM.
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Comment 3 of 4, added on February 10th, 2012 at 6:03 PM.
I can’t die any time soon,And my htoaeitisn stems Not from fear of the hereafterOr any strong yearning for Earth.I just don’t know where to goWhen I leave this place. I’ve made arrangements for my soul;It’s the empty carcass I planTo leave behind that makes meDelay my departure.If the mister and I are to lieSide by side til judgment day, Not spooning but lying straightAnd stiff, we must agree, yetNo place suits the two of us.For me, I’d just as soon spendThe time between now and heavenWrapped in an old quilt softFrom too many washes. I preferA simple pine box, not the topModel some funeral homeProprietor pushes to guilt riddenNext of kin. Plant me atop the hillWhere my people lie, have lainFor more than a century.He may not know where he wantsTo rest, but he knows the placesHe rejects. My places. He’d be content To have his ashes tossed skyward,To leave behind no stone marker,No sacred spot for those who stayBehind when we leave this place.I shudder at the thought of fireAnd bones, at leaving hereFor no place in particular, Or worse, my ash remains,Drifting down the creek, washingAshore in some Child’s swimming hole(sorry for odd capitalization. I am attending the NCWN confefence and relying on my iPad note pad.)
Comment 2 of 4, added on January 20th, 2005 at 4:35 PM.
This poem has brought me comfort on many occassions. I
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