Epitaph

I hope it is an autumn day
when my magic journey ends,
with scarlet maples blazing forth,
caressed by western winds.

My wish would be for cumulus clouds
scudding across the sky,
with a flight of geese heading south
and honking as they fly.

My family and friends would gently smile,
and recall a life of joy,
and a loving man who looked at life
with the wonder of a boy.

The last of my wine should freely flow
and a Jameson’s or two,
and glad memories would be exchanged,
unembellished, and joyously true.

And my ashes would be scattered
on the waters of the bay,
and my spirit would take flight:
thus I would pass away.

And my people would remember me
when the wild nor’easter blows,
when the moonpath is on the harbour,
and when the lupin grows.

And my spirit will be out there
and their memories will not dim,
and sometimes with a smile they’ll say,
“that reminds me of him.”
.