Will I weep at my own funeral?

I hope not. I hate false tears.

There will be enough of those

For the gravedigger to use

To moisten my grave, to refresh

Any wreaths of memory.

Will I offer a prayer for the dead?

I may need to, if no one else does,

For each of us dies alone, buried alone.

Few are assured the eternity

Of remembrance, the gift

Of some-one else’s

Continuing love. 

That is the only obulus[1] I need.

21.4.16