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Do Not Cry For Me You Ungrateful Children

Do not stand on my grave and weep My adult children: you see I was alive for 92 years, You never came to visit or act like you care I was there, I never move away I was the one who put food on the table Cloth you, during the rough days I shield you from the harsh reality in this world The world in which I must now leave Loneliness, heartbreak and man-made diseases While the wet snow creep in my old brown boot I count all seven of you. As you sip your bowls of soups I was there, I never made a move. Do not stand at my grave and weep For thirty years my offspring avoid me An evening of Psalm and Hymns Would never make amends; it’s thee end of my journey Do not stand at my grave and cry. Go shelter from the rain. let the cloud weep for me while the rivers and ravens shown solidarity. Do horses mind the rain/storms? Do not stand at my grave and weep The fog surround my grave like a white woven drape No more prays, no more tears.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012




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Date: 7/23/2022 5:45:00 AM
I love this and often sadly true.
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Date: 10/6/2012 5:22:00 PM
I have ungrateful adult children of my own. The tears I have shed mean nothing to them...and this poem hit the nail on the head.... what is wrong with our modern society? My parents generation took care of their families...there was no such thing as a nursing home ....only for people with NO family...disgraceful and riveting.... thanks for the share...Victoria
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Annie Lander
Date: 10/7/2012 6:45:00 AM
I know the feeling, a Nursing Home is nothing more than a Prison await from home, too many prescribe medication and restains and fake Nurses and Aide ... better known as the wardens.. thank you for commenting. it really a disgrace to our society...
Date: 9/13/2012 4:29:00 PM
Beautiful poem, yet sad and true for some, I find if there is a will, they all crawl out of the woodwork, I won't have that problem : ) love Elizabeth
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Annie Lander
Date: 9/13/2012 8:09:00 PM
thank you Girl Celtic

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry