Will I, for my final rest, In the casket, be all dressed, Just so folk can pass me by And with saddened hearts, they cry? Will the earthworm have a meal When they 'ventually reveal Me, interred deep in the soil? NO, I'd rather, they, me, boil. Keep the vestments for th'forlorn Have me burnt, as day was born, Scatter me amongst the sand Somewhere warm, in this dear land.
Poetry I have composed throughout the years. Some specifically for people, others for printing in anthologies