Living Will
I’d like to die upon an Autumn day,
In my own bedroom in my own, big bed,
Watching, out the window, how each leaf
Turns from deep green to red,
Or green to yellow,
While a concerto with a deep, low cello,
Fills all the room with song too sweet for grief.
With, near at hand, hot scones, sweet jam, hot tea,
With at least three pillows at my back.
And, gently tucked around my weary body,
A handmade quilt, soft, worn. And with my black
And white cat, Oreo, in my lap, in full purr,
Warm, as I stroke his glossy fur.
I wouldn’t like folk hovering by the bed.
Just coming, now and then, to say hello,
To rearrange the pillows at my head,
Or sit awhile and chat. And then to go
Down to make up a brand new pot of tea
In the kitchen that was mine not long ago.
No heaven, I think, could ever be as good
As what our senses give us. And to me,
That’s all I need or want. And all I should
Expect. And really, now, how could there be?
This world is all there is. Here let me feel
The music, color, touch and love that’s real.
