My Will

I'm getting older every day,
And time to make my will.
To friends and loved ones I must give,
Ere my heart grows still.

And should I become dependent,
I trust...they'll not condemn.
Me...for my faults and failings,
Or what I leave to them.

The value of my worldly store,
Is O...so very small.
A poem book on the mantle,
And a canvas for your wall.

Because I have no pewter cups,
Nor tarnished pitcher-pots.
My mind will bear its burden well,
And give me peace...in thoughts.

There are no crystal vases,
Or tiplets just for wine.
No cupid with a flower wreath,
Where hearts of red entwine.

No pots of gold or bank notes,
And no jewels in a box.
No pages by a Master's hand,
To barricade with locks.

Most precious are the memories,
Of life...which now receives.
The bounteous grains of cherished love,
That hangs in golden sheaves.

And so...my will comes to an end,
As flowers once, now hang in pod.
And I...I rise up in my last request,
Humbly offering...my soul to God.

E.P. 1908 - 1989