When I die, dont bury me,
With flowers on my grave,
Throw my ashes to the wind.
So that I am as free as poetry
The only thing to make me think,
The only reason for me to create through speech.
The only thing thats been a friend to me.
The roots to a time,
To a trunk of memories,
Up to the leaves to float onto an unset line,
Rustling to remind me for just awhile..
This used to be someone esle's view,
And reason to smile..