A MOBILE DEATH
When I am dead,
I shall be simply everywhere, Dear,
Not wondering,
If I should spend my winter here, Dear,
Or flit down to the South of France instead.
Alive and well,
Whilst I’m grateful to be here, Dear,
I'm pondering,
If death will spread my wings, Dear,
A passport to new things, Dear,
A magic carpet …..
And a hubble-bubble pipe,
To smoke in my dreams,
In bed.
