let me die a poet’s death,

a what shall my last words be?

kind of a leaving.

to make sure there is no-one at home grieving

as they just ponder on my wise words of departure.

let me drift off just as I’m composing

how I wish to be remembered, as I am reposing

in my best poet’s lacy shirt

with wild neck tie flowing,

so they will not dwell upon my going.

make sure I have the time to choose the font

for that last inscription, it is so important,

so it can be clearly read and all can see and marvel

on what the poet said

in that moment of inspiration.

just before she was dead.

and when I lay my pen down on the slope

although the ink is drying

there is hope

that a few of my words might linger on

for friends and loved ones all to dwell upon.

for then there should be no more mystery

and all will know the poet, that is me.