If I ever despair, rock my chair.
Draw the shades and let
music swell from the ceiling. I
have dwelt in this realm for sixty
years and I still cannot
comprehend why my feelings
are unchanged. If my last resting
place is behind a plaque on a
wall in a shady place I will not
disgrace it – I’ll be deceased,
the noise comes instead from
the living imbued with their
ideas of my discontent. That is
my legacy. Make me live again,
think of me when I’m dead.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-01
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