The Atheist's Epitaph

Think not of me ascending To some celestial space Some Heaven never-ending Spending eternity in God’s grace. Think not of me transcending This universe, material To some vapid, unoffending Paradise ethereal. Rather think of me as blending Into my mother Earth Melding with and mending The womb that gave me birth. Planted as an acorn descending To spring to life once more As a mighty oak unbending While the winds around me roar Planted in the earth and sending My filaments through the soil Downward wending and befriending The worms that round me coil. Think of me thus lending All my life-force in this way To the glorious unrelenting Splendour of each day.