Someday far too soon
this frequently falling buffoon
will be dirt and decay
rotting away
in another strange cage.

Hopefully not a wooden casket
to be dropped like the trots
and covered in crunchy kitty litter;
I would prefer to be
buried underneath
a freshly planted sapling.
Let growing roots
pierce and devour
every nutrient in me.

Do not let my resting form
await eternity, being so boring.
Let my death be a joining.
For in life I was brought forth
by mother nature of course
so, it only seems right
that in my twilight
I should serve
the source of my birth.