Not Sleeping

A simple, honest poem about death.

When I am in a godless grave
Where my bones will know no heaven,
Take flowers from my hungry earth,
And wear them in your hair.

Let rain be all that weeps for me,
Save tears for far off trees,
But run your fingers over stones,
That bury me below.

I will lie down with all I fear,
With Death and with the worms,
And I'll distract them all from you,
For at least a little while.

Let the wasting names on watching graves
Steal you gently from your sorrow,
Or take a smile from the silent air,
Lest you wake me with your cries.

Over sandwiches you'll say I sleep,
But it's an eerie breathless rest,
So don't find me in the comfort words
But in the flowers in your hair.