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Oct 2021
On my day,
Play the fiddle as I’m lowered.
Watch the sun go down, but not in anger.
Watch the moon rise,
As she collects a new night to watch unfold.
Walk away with straight backs and high chins,
And don’t come back til you’ve had your rest.

When I die do not blame your crafting hands
As they couldn’t do what you wanted.
Nothing will stop my judgement day.
When I die, keep that head high,
As my memory is lowered,
Into a place in your heart.
There is no time to weep.
So when you hear that fiddle,
Grant me this one wish.
Shea
Written by
Shea  18/Genderqueer/|°
(18/Genderqueer/|°)   
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