At my passing

I sat amidst the snowdrop, 

In the Winter of my days, 

For delicacy and gentle form, 

To capture lonely gaze, 

The gentle scent of roses, 

Caressed me as I lay, 

Their petals, fragile blanket, 

Showing me the way, 

The tree so high above me, 

A marker for my soul, 

Branches set like Angels wings, 

Their shadow marks my toll,

The primrose and the buttercup, 

Offered succour to my heart, 

The tulip and the poppy too, 

Each to play their part, 

Forget-Me-Not, its sentiment, 

Allowed me wistful thought, 

That nature was all that remained, 

When my life was naught, 

The bower that surrounded me, 

The place where I shall lie, 

When all the worlds forgotten me, 

And I come here to die. 

 

 

 

 

 

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