the lanky mortician with wryly looking fingers, oh the poor boy. The hospital asked me how the body should be cast. Such a funny thought to wrap you up in white linens, your favorite colour. Before I say goodbye my dear Eugene, "Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?"
I can hear you asking, "James why do you cry?, Make the most of your life, while it is rife; While it is light." Before I watch your flesh go, Shall we look at the moon, one last try?