What Flesh Bequeaths

That I am kin to all and everything,
I taste of stardust ere the rain’s soft bite
On hillsides where November mists alight,
Forsaking flesh and bone and blooded sheen,
To blend as nature deems. What flesh bequeaths,
I will not prize – no gilt, no grandeur binds –
I will depart this plane in measured time
And seize my place amongst the fallen leaves,
Or stars above, or tombstones here beside –
A spot to mark my sojourn’s dear depart,
A child of naught but happenstance, at heart,
Who loved of life and knew of love, in kind –
Contented, by and by – ‘til gathered home
In fields of memory suffused in stone.