I long for still and silent sleep
'neath rugged stone and pretty flowers
to lay in peace at turmoils end
as larks sing by the passing hours.

I do not long for mourners tears
nor wringing hands to mark my loss
Just quiet song to lift me up
from where I lay beneath the moss.

And once my soul has flown it's last
and bid farewell to those held dear
I'll whistle through the summer breeze
with joy that I'm no longer here.