Plastic Flowers On Our Graves
I can understand an epitaph
befitting of heroes and knaves,
but there is no respect in
plastic flowers on our graves.
“IHS,” “RIP,” those I understand,
but it would take an oracle
to comprehend, how faded plastic flowers
say something allegorical.
Perhaps a quiet moment would suffice,
memories of friends and family,
but what strange story does reside
within this plastic homily?
No headstones, please,
to mark my transition.
No comments about heaven,
or death, or perdition.
No quiet glade, with bench,
and leafy green bowers,
but most of all do not give me
those curséd plastic flowers!
Welcome, and Namaste
Greetings fellow travellers,
For you American friends visiting, you will notice that this old Canadian uses Canadian English in this blog: kindly bear with me. As I blog primarily on subjects that are vitally interesting to me, I appreciate all feedback.
As I tend to be a bit of a language usage freak, I will, as required, edit obscenity and rude comments. That said, I welcome your opinions and discussion.
May your Dharma be clear
Peace
"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended:
That you have but slumb'red here,
While these visions did appear."
Puck’s epilogue to A Midsummer Night’s Dream
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