Epitaph (by KT)
19 September 2012 at 12:11
Write me a poem.
Use the words you were born with,
The words you grew up with,
The words you speak everyday of your life.
Don't bring me a rose from a garden you did not grow.
Better the thick green stalk of a ****
Grown wild and unbidden
Behind the steps of your back porch.
Better a handful of parched grass
Plucked fitfully from your own lawn.
Write me a poem
And let me hear your voice.
Unsmooth, raucous,
Irritating as the sound of a rusty tricycle trundling by.
Let me see your face.
Scarred and uncared for,
Unwashed and unshaven,
Tender and sad.
Write me a poem
And deliver it to my mossy grave
With a ragged bunch of flowers
Planted and picked by your hand
And read me your words.
I WILL LISTEN.
And beneath the earth
And upon the winds
And across the seas
I will sound my applause
In the song of the tiny sparrow
As she flies forever home.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Epitaph (by KT)
19 September 2012 at 12:11
Write me a poem.
Use the words you were born with,
The words you grew up with,
The words you speak everyday of your life.
Don't bring me a rose from a garden you did not grow.
Better the thick green stalk of a ****
Grown wild and unbidden
Behind the steps of your back porch.
Better a handful of parched grass
Plucked fitfully from your own lawn.
Write me a poem
And let me hear your voice.
Unsmooth, raucous,
Irritating as the sound of a rusty tricycle trundling by.
Let me see your face.
Scarred and uncared for,
Unwashed and unshaven,
Tender and sad.
Write me a poem
And deliver it to my mossy grave
With a ragged bunch of flowers
Planted and picked by your hand
And read me your words.
I WILL LISTEN.
And beneath the earth
And upon the winds
And across the seas
I will sound my applause
In the song of the tiny sparrow
As she flies forever home.
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