What Remains of Me

There shall not be a chosen place behind a fence or wall
where those who knew the living me shall come to pay a call

No row or number plot or box to kneel and place a flower
no dates to mark my given time, no sense to spend one’s hour

For time is sure to also take the one’s I know and love
until the day that no one comes and all look from above

My remains shall harbor all, in forest, stream and air
they will remain for memory, and all those born to care

My remains shall come in spring and bring a sense of hope
urging all to seek within and find new ways to cope

My remains will share the summers, lending warmth and shade
reminding all to trust their hearts and what must be obeyed

My remains will know the fall and blown with evening breeze
the lessons of my short sweet life, shall come to all with ease

My remains shall welcome winter, blanketing the cold
asking all to listen close, to all that’s being told

There will not be a chosen place behind a fence or wall
Rather thoughts to then embrace, the needing if they call

September 2002