Sepulchre

If I should die some solemn day
And leave behind some far flung ray,
My sepulchre would not be cold.
The universe would always turn,
The heavens glow, the hearth-fires burn.
Here my body would not mould.
Someone must hollow out the ground
To put my body ‘neath a mound-
I may leave footprints in the sand
To lead me out when I have died,
Because my soul belongs outside
And strangely, it would understand.
My heart is dressed in laughing breath,
It cannot pillow robes of death.


Poetry by Eleonora

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