When you die As soon you shall Give your gold and silver trinkets To those worldly friends I hate. I ask this boon of you No more— That in a three-inch urn Dug from some ancient grave And covered with a patina of tragedy and love You let me keep the ashes Of your head and hands and heart— This boon I ask, No more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |