BUT WHO WILL SIT BESIDE ME



But who will sit beside me when I'm sixty
while I look alone at passing Youth 
who edit memories of our early years
and stir remembrance of our glory.
Beside your grave I cannot comprehend
how love grows while bodies crumble.
Those, who thought themselves immortal, 
inevitably alter and now I will not exit 
as I planned, with you in hand.



"But triumph rests in my remains
as my bones are yours to succour.
Drink from my heart;
fill your void with marrow and
Let fond - eternal - reassurance 
build clouds of living breath from dust.
No self-centred melancholy should be my epitaph
but from you I'll allow bad rhymes on my behalf."