On My Epitaph

I want to be slothful and want not to work I like to lie down on a faded white cotton under the swelling Sun. I want to walk lazily, slowly in the wilds in midst of solitude, no harrowing time, picking wild berries while listening to humming flies. How many sunrises I have seen , easily I can count I have gazed at full moon but the number is miniscule. Morning dew evaporates and says life is fragile in every breaking way. When it rains on the sand I want to make love to my gal I want to bathe in shading leaves in raking fall. I would hide in igloos when northern winter drops and as I ran out of water and food I would be happily torn. Ashes of my soul , let it be strewn in air be written on my epitaph " A soul is free from every bonded affair".