and gone beneath the ground,
lay me gently in the earth,
so roots can travel down.
So roots can travel down, my love,
that break the flesh and bone,
my pallid skin, frail porcelain,
beneath the grass and stone.
When I am dead, my dearest,
and the soil my eternal bed,
when my breath has all expired,
lay no flowers at my head.
My hair will weave a firmament
of stars as sacred crown,
when I am dead, my dearest,
my love, when I am gone.
