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Much Like Me

by
 Much like me, you make your way forward,
Walking with downturned eyes.
Well, I too kept mine lowered.
Passer-by, stop here, please.
Read, when you've picked your nosegay Of henbane and poppy flowers, That I was once called Marina, And discover how old I was.
Don't think that there's any grave here, Or that I'll come and throw you out .
.
.
I myself was too much given To laughing when one ought not.
The blood hurtled to my complexion, My curls wound in flourishes .
.
.
I was, passer-by, I existed! Passer-by, stop here, please.
And take, pluck a stem of wildness, The fruit that comes with its fall -- It's true that graveyard strawberries Are the biggest and sweetest of all.
All I care is that you don't stand there, Dolefully hanging your head.
Easily about me remember, Easily about me forget.
How rays of pure light suffuse you! A golden dust wraps you round .
.
.
And don't let it confuse you, My voice from under the ground.

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