Testament
Mar 31 2021
Who doesn't want to be buried
under a tree?
This must be prime cemetery real estate,
and I can just imagine
a gently sloping hill
in temperate shade
nestled among the roots.
But I have my eye on a white pine
down by the lake
that somehow escaped the loggers,
a virgin tree
tall and straight
with fine silver-green needles.
And because, unlike aspen and birch
its leaves are not shed
in the cycle of seasons
it seems an apt metaphor for posterity,
or one, at least, that's good enough
for a man who is not a believer.
But please, no formaldehyde
hardwood box
go-to-meeting suit.
Just a naked body
in a simple shroud
planted in the ground.
Not that I entertain illusions
I'll be reborn as a tree.
Because if living on is possible
it will be in memory, at best,
should I live a life of consequence
and anyone remember.
My only hope
is that my matter will persist,
returning to the earth
and giving life to a tree
and beauty to the world.
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