Photo by Andy Falconer on Unsplash

So I die, what then?
Will they put me in a plain wood box
as I request? Will I rest under the
copper beech, with Granddad and Granny?
Will I be planted in the field called
New Cemetery, politely along with
my Mother and Father?
interred with husband in a concrete
vault, in the soldiers cemetery? Will
I care?

In that plain box I think of me as being
free.  The part of me that joins the
ether as I crumble to the earth
along with the box,
then goes free to travel
through rock and root and leaf.
To join with beetle, bird and cloud then
leave again to journey on the wind,
taste the sea, roam with those
that swim and dive, crawl the ocean depths,
come back to the cool of woods and field.

Then can I move on again, into
outer darkness, to swirl and dance
to and through, around and with the living planets
and moons, until my spirit fills,
and then – the sun.
Is it beyond my reach, beyond my ken?
Sun was at the beginning – I think
I will not hesitate,
I will begin again.