The Clay

When I cast my slough of clay Put it quietly away. Let no bloom untimely fade Where my empty heart is laid. Ask no folk to crowd around With an air of woe profound. Those who love me know that I Cannot in a coffin lie. Let them go where'er they will, Dreaming of me living still. Let no formal words be said Customary for the dead. Plant no stone above the pit: Let the grass run over it.