If today I were to die,
I think I know who’d weep,
A crying jag for some,
For some a moistened cheek,
A swipe of the eye, a blink, blink, blink. A sigh of relief?
What would they think?
Would there be a service?
And if so, where would it be?
Would it be well-attended?
Who’d speak in praise of me?
Would anyone be happy?
Delighted, filled with glee?
At the realization that,
They’d seen the last of me?
I hope I do not die today,
And join those gone before,
I haven’t done my big thing yet,
More time, I need much more.
About the Creator
Denise Shelton
Denise Shelton writes on a variety of topics and in several different genres. Frequent subjects include history, politics, and opinion. She gleefully writes poetry The New Yorker wouldn't dare publish.
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