Memory Bird

When I turn Into dust and memory, No one will say I was an eagle, Flying higher than anyone, Big, wide wings, Queen of the sky. Nor will they say, I was a raven, Cloaked in a black, cleric’s frock, But cocky and loud. They won’t think I was a cardinal, Dressed for the red carpet, Ravishing in the midst of the snow. Perhaps they’ll say I was a dove, Flying over the fence, Cooing softly, Until the whole yard grew content and calm.