Lay me down in a bed of grass
when my body dies, that it may pass
deep into the essence of
this glorious earth I do so love.
But until that time:
My heart gives rise to the high places,
how transcendent is God in these spaces!
Where trickster breezes weave through my hair
and the miracles of life are everywhere.
As a falling leaf, my cheek it doth kiss
this life I know I'll sorely miss;
so when you note my long, last nod,
just place me in the soft, green sod.
By Cathy S. Rapicano - June 4, 2006