ode to my death

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I'm not there, I didn't die;
Still I can feel the blades of rain

And the sun still warms my childish terrain

I see you and the flowers in hue

White roses, fair proses and the great sky of blue

The zephyr, the fire and the fear

I see them more clearly, I see like a seer

Play of the twilight on creamy walls

Teutonic folklore and all of the trolls

Happy thoughts and chasing windmills

Stories I used to tell will be told at your wills

Two ravens stood and stumbled to death

I know it was them that would lie underneath

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.