There shall be no grave

To find me.

No headstone,

Scratched with platitudes.

No place to visit,

Occasionally,

And, on bended knee

Leave flowers,

That will wither

And die.

For I shall have departed,

Finally.

If I become, just a fleeting memory,

That is

As it should be.

I shall leave my words behind,

And if,

One day,

You should find them,

Covered in dust,

Just remember me,

A fleeting memory,

As one who was happy,

Just to know you.

                                  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn