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.
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