deepundergroundpoetry.com
On Death
When the body turns to
Ashes -
Flown away it's treasured
Soul,
It's to late to plan the
Journey,
It's to late to set the
Goal.
When the flowers are all
Budding
And the trees put forth their
Green -
That's the time for
Meditation,
That's the time to set the
Scene.
Ashes -
Flown away it's treasured
Soul,
It's to late to plan the
Journey,
It's to late to set the
Goal.
When the flowers are all
Budding
And the trees put forth their
Green -
That's the time for
Meditation,
That's the time to set the
Scene.
Published 28th Mar 2012
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28th May 2013 1:09am
