When I die
What will people see
In my poetry?
Will they read me
At all?
I will not know
Whether tis so
For in my pall
My poetry
Must surely go.
Though perhaps it may
Not be so.
When I Die
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When I Die
I wonder, when I die,
If it be in dream,
Will it seem
That I lie
Abed,
In perpetual dream?
I
Must take care
That my head
Is empty of all nightmare,
Lest, when I am dead
I, forever, dream.
When I Die
When I die
I wish to do so
Hearing the virile
Wind blow,
And not in some sterile
Hospital wing
Where the living dead
Go to die
And hear not
The wind sing.
When I Die
When I Die
Where will
All these dreams go?
And will I
Be dreaming still?
I do not know.
K Morris - Poet 