Bury me in some deep wood,
Beneath an overhanging bough –
An oak or hazel would be good;
Not that it really matters now.
My body’s but a sunlit wave
That bobs a while upon the sea
And sinks within a peaceful grave,
And there’s no better place to be.
Or, if no woodland can be found
To which a person can retire,
Don’t bury me beneath the ground,
But throw my body on the fire.
And, as the flames consume my form,
You’ll know it’s me that keeps you warm.
Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash
