Garden Go

When the dark angel comes for me,

Don't scatter my ashes beneath some tree,

Or toss them out for the winds to blow.

No, let me again to my garden go:

My Eden of earthy delight,

Where Rose awaits with heavy hips,

And Iris laughs with lavender lips,

And wonton Ajuga romps in the night.

Potash pleases them all, you know.