The gray hedge on that weary plains
The haystack in the barn
Children fondling the fawn
The shoat wondrously slain
Mum peacock,

Singing on the snow
A lusterless package of sorrow

Your last consumer trip
Was voted against your interest
Variety is what makes life so ordinary
And somebody like you
Wrapped
In the glory and pageantry of an extended life
Must get tired of this

So come! To my burial site
Of muffled frost
And softly tread
Upon piles of memory
My memory, of course
I have seen you dance many times

The moment forgotten
The moment preserved
Once preserved instantly forgotten
How you ignored my smile
Behind my name etched on the cold, pale marble
Now what you need to do is promise;
Promise you will, out of sheer wantonness
No promising the moon, by the way
except allegiance to your promise
That you will
By the moonlight, on the snow,
Dance a measure on my graves