How fragile is our love and labor,
It flickers like a wind-whipped flame;
How fast our wick does burn and taper,
Ending life in smoke-like fame;
Plant perennials here in my soil,
Knowing Fate’s inconstancy;
That from my grave for all your toil
I’ll over-grow your memory.
Did you enjoy the the artible “When Planting Flowers On My Grave” from David McLansky on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply