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On Death
Should I die and be cremated, please preserve my little skull,
For like a nut when the meat is gone, all's left is but the hull..
My skull is house that traps my thoughts, wherein does reason dwell.
Where words upon this paper, spring to life from brain's compel
Do not crush and blend my skull, as though it's a power shake.
Yet my body's bones after death, I care not if they break.
Find a pretty box, where my skull can rest in final close,
Where dreams can live forever in eternal skull's repose.
Copyright ©
Hilda Greenhough
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