O my dearest,when I die,decorate me not with Fleur
Nor embrace my parched body in that penultimate journey
Neither invite an influx of weepers, I won't hear
That abysmal noise,I deplore this irony
The aroma won't reach me nor pacify my fears
I won't count the carriages,your translucent tears
Be the skies above me,desolate - my epitaph
But today where I live,get me that glory
Write me an epistle that'd fill my being with joy
Give me up on Ash Wednesday,
together we fly
Let thy presence today be a cathartic venture for me
Hold me in the avalanche - an earnest plea
And thou mayst shroud me in white or azure
I won't read the epitaph,I don't mind the hue.
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