when I die–I’d rather not be mourned

rather, be thought of, when you hear a certain chord

no people unknown grieving my passing

rather, a private viewing, with people laughing wistfully

I’d want to be burned to ashes, and put in a nice niche

laid to rest near nature, somewhere where I can breathe.

sit there eternally, and watch elegant loons

paint themselves across the mountains, and ponder all dues

for when I die—I don’t want to be missed

rather, fade off peacefully into the abyss