When I'm not anymore

And when I am six feet underground,

With bugs consuming my earthly mound,

They'll catch glimpses of your face,

In the presence of this resting place.

They'll taste the echoes of your laughter,

As they weave through roots after that,

They'll carry whispers of your sighs,

In the murmur of their nocturnal cries.

Through the dark and dampened loam,

They'll sense the warmth of our shared home,

And though my body returns to dust,

In these tiny creatures, love will trust.

No longer just bugs under the sun,

But carriers of a love that's never undone.