pushing daisies

Pushing daisies

This Saturday has sadness in the summer clouds
feel I ought to go home, don’t know why?
A place I have not been to for fifty years
I dismissed the thought as sentimental trash
Is It!
When my dog died in an accident in Faro town
I drove through a rainy night to bury her
Where she was born
Felt it was my duty to her
Was it!
As a modern man, I know it doesn’t matter
Where we die, the soil is either dry or damp
If there is a longing to rest under turf known
Has it got a meaning, or is it soppiness?
Is it!
The body that died in a foreign land
Will not fertilize the soil of one’s homeland
Is it not irrelevant where the death occurred
In the enormity of forever?