Atop some long ago rusted train trestle
now rests a forgotten broken clay vessel,
shattered where only ghosts of ancient freight trains run.
Such was the wish of one forsaken man among men;
to disperse his cremated remains there back when
he prepared to meet his demise with his own gun.
It was on a single October's crisp autumnal day;
One with every cloud in God's sky brushed away.
Countless grackles screeched through creaky, golden trees.
His loosened ashes flew everywhere, far and wide,
east and west, intent on crossing some great divide
to become an eternally freed spirit set adrift up on a breeze.