When Death Comes ( After Mary Oliver )

When death comes,  
let them say I mastered      
the anatomy of words,    
that my life was poetry.      
Let them say I humbled    
that bulwark of ego—      
that bane of pride,      
leaving a quiet legacy.      
Not with the flying colors      
of a Rainbow lorikeet      
capturing its beholder's eye;      
but, a female cardinal—      
her lackluster appearance      
ensuring the nest survives.    
     
Let them, despite my human      
mistakes and many faults,    
say I at least loved poetry—    
that my Spirit became a poem, a bird,      
a cardinal nesting in a cup of words.      
~