Poem By kendall thomas
Your grave is on a hillside
overlooking a residential area
If you could sit here, as I,
with your back against cold stone,
you could watch the little people
come and go.
Wouldn’t that be a hellish way
to spend eternity after the high life?
They put a rose in your hand,
shades over your eyes,
a platinum wig on your head
and a bottle of perfume beside you:
I wonder who will remember you or any of us
When the last ounce is gone?