Our backyard seems a little bare these day.

Has your work stolen you and kept you from home,

or is that bare spot where we planned our beautiful garden,

remind you too much of how you plucked me

too early from my life, and buried me deep.

You've left me alone, but I've made friends.

The worms, the beetles and the blowflies

keep me company here, while you're away.

They help me keep time; their life cycles prosper

and flourish in the wake of my decaying cells.

They asked me to say thank you.

I've had a lot of time to think down here,

and I want one last favor from you.

You left me here, with only the bugs for company,

but I want something beautiful, something better

than this patch of dirt you left for my memory.

Plant me some white lilies

and red roses over

that plain mound of dirt.

Their roots will grow and twist.

until they wrap around my skin

become my veins

and hold my bones.

You owe me that, at least.