Tomb Planting

When I die,
Bury me with a book in my hand,
A sword at my side,
And a word in my mouth.
Sing no grand songs
About the passing of things
But place one dry rose
Across my stone bed
And when I am asleep
I will go
And visit the place where it was planted,
And look at the moon
Under the soft, cool darkness
And wonder
About the sweetness of the world.

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