ONE would think the dead were burying the living, not the living the dead, The way we hold funerals... Bah! my heart sickens! Please, when I die, know that I am very well able to care for myself, And that the journey is mine, not yours: Then take the refuse I left behind me And quickly and quietly burn it up. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOYS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER SONGS OF NIGHT TO MORNING: 4 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) EVENING MUSIC by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MUSIC OF THE SEA by QUINTIN BONE SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 22 by BLISS CARMAN |