![](/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/Cyprusses.png?itok=DG6bZfjH)
Fading
My life is nearly over, I leave the rest to you.
The dreaming, moon-beaming, blood teeming,
I've other things to do.
I need to write my will, comb my hair; any last requests?
Because once they put me in the ground,
You might just be next.
This poem is about:
Me