Come view her coffin, covered in a flower-like moss.
Come see her corpse, like ice, cold and pale.
Feel free to weep tears when words just fail.
A handful of dirt into her grave; go on, give it a toss.
She hopes you will not grieve your loss.
She prays you will not sit at home and wail,
weeping and mourning, letting grief assail
and fling you into torrents of despair as you bear this cross.

For her soul finds its rest, among the deceased.
She welcomed death quite calmly.
Her graying face was not fearful in the least.
When her soul took wing, 'twas a beauty to see.
In Heaven, she hopes that you are a little pleased
knowing her death was one of peace, of tranquility.