And Bring Some Flowers Today while out upon my errands to bank, to store, and then to home I happened past the graveyard's grounds where none but birds and squirrels roam. And thought I then what tragic shame that all these souls should rot away with none to come and sit and cry or on their grave a flower lay. The trees shade not a grieving son Nor grass absorb a daughter's tear No grandchild even knows their name and headstones weather more each year Now only mowers pass their way or workmen sent to dig more holes and only he who freshly grieves upon those grounds in mem'ry strolls the world drives past and looks away, but hope, perhaps, in secret hours that someone will, when they are gone remember them, and bring some flowers.
Reminds me of the Joke So Crude: Q: "How many dead people are in that graveyard?" A: "ALL OF THEM!" Of course, the theories as to how long a Soul inhabits the body after death, or may choose to hang around its place of dwelling, are as many and varied as the theories as to what exactly a "Soul" might be. And each one is as equally plausible as it is ridiculous. I rather thought it amusing that Hunter S. Thompson had himself shot out of a cannon at his funeral. Personally I prefer to be thrown into the Sea. Food for the Fishies, or the Leviathon, maybe, the Thing That Should Not Be. Shades of Lovecraft. Have A Nice Day!
Thanks everyone for your comments. True, but I'm more concerned with the memory of the dead, and how that reflects on the impact we have on the world while we live. Clearly not a big one, if no one's thinking about us or visiting the graves of their forbears-- a ritual for the living, for the dead care not; but we can all live on if we'd help others do the same by remembring them. And, as for me, I'd rather be allowed to decompose high on a mountainside. Let my atoms cycle through the foodchain a few times before reaching the sea, where I'll probably just end up as silt turning to idle stone on the seafloor.
