So lay me upon the bed of sweet flowers,
where the babbling brook promises sweet relief
and washes away the old and worn.
Take my body to that canopy of vines and ivy,
where it spills over forgotten stones
etched with once loved names.
The moon shines upon us, my sweet gallowed hand,
as you hid me beneath the ivy and forgotten names.
Bury me under the moons and stars,
under whom we once loved.
Upon the bed of rotten flowers.