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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Death >> ID #363910 |
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Why plant flowers at my head,
And arrange them so neatly in beds? Why talk about the weather, Or cutting back the encroaching heather? Why give me news about your brother, Or your latest lover? Why bring your children to see me For only confused will they be! You moan about work And your co-workers being jerks You dredge up your strife What can I say…that’s life? Why plant flowers at my head I cant appreciate them as I’m already dead
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