Standing at the graveside, staring into the dark slot,

I wonder if my narrative will read like a dime novel plot,

Or a moving exploration of those that, "Have and have not,"

Will I be remembered fondly or, acknowledged then forgot?

 

Will the mournful matter, "Shatter," those that grieve,

Or will they vaguely nod, vaguely turn and vaguely leave,

Will the thoughts i shared with loved ones offer some relief,

Or the service help some, "Lost sheep," rekindle their belief?

 

I'm hopeful that my, "Crossing," won't occur for some time yet,

I hope that when it's my turn I'll have minimal regret,

I hope I've brought some value, hope but wouldn't bet,

And though I'll be forgotten hope these words will cling on yet.

 

"I've had the chance to really live and grasped it with both hands,

Through you I learned to deeply love and truly understand,

But time has come for me to honour lifes final demand,

And take my place, with good grace, laid down in this fair land."