The Will

IMPRIMIS—I wish to die at the place I call Home

but it is too late now
 
my departing shadow I entrust to Heaven
my memory I give to the silent Dust
my Body I give to public censure
to be disposed off as my friends think fit
 
the miseries I brought onto my aged home
are gifts of an unthinking Youth
and at my funeral will be melancholy’s song
the only requiem fit like cries over garlic

I never thought of a chill snow-ribbed world
with a drift of rare flowers with delicate
shell-like diamonds enclosing frozen lily-leaves
their camellia textures were mere teasers
they are colder than the thorn of roses

now I know the windflower
that keeps alive the breath of ants
from the north-wind world

today I depart this world
with intimate thoughts of the place I call home
and treasure its beauty on my mind
from now I’ll reach out to share
the rare pure texture of its beautiful spaces
and long lines of marvels to grace

I will preach of its intimate hands
and dear drawn forever-green garden wards
all these sheer raptures I will take
to mold a clear and frigid statue
for small Poets to bequeath like my Pen