Bury me, boys, in a grave
knee deep.
No box, no shroud,
naked as at birth.
Set me down in a glade green
and silent save
for the chatter of squirrels and jays,
the din of cicadas and bullfrogs--bees, too.
And mourning doves pecking about.
Over seed with red clover,
no stone needed.
Bury me, boys, in a grave
knee deep.
Lyman 2026
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