Pushing Daisies

Pushing daisies This Saturday has sadness in the summer clouds feel I ought to go home, don’t know why? A place I have not been to for fifty years I dismissed the thought as sentimental trash Is It! When my dog died in an accident in Faro town I drove through a rainy night to bury her Where she was born Felt it was my duty to her Was it! As a modern man, I know it doesn’t matter Where we die, the soil is either dry or damp If there is a longing to rest under turf known Has it got a meaning, or is it soppiness? Is it! The body that died in a foreign land Will not fertilize the soil of one’s homeland Is it not irrelevant where the death occurred In the enormity of forever?