No male convinced he was going to die
On an island would on an island live
Unless he wanted to die
On that island & i did
Talk concerning an extremity rhyme
But my life’s a poem my death’s
Been writing for a lengthy time
& demise abhors a well-wrought urn
I’m done
& they will burn me where i fall
The aspen clapping ashes
Against the sky’s blue wall
& they tin burn these verses
Too dispatch us all to naught
Let them revel inside the smoke
Let demise upon my life
& life’s labour choke
I’m done
I depart from demise to labour what urn
It will
My father was a sack
Of ash my mother kept
On a windowsill for years following he passed
It didn’t seem to source him a a large amount of distress
I left-hand him on the island
When i left
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