When I have breathed that final breath,
I have one last request --
Don't make for me an ornate box
to take eternal rest.

Beneath a gnarled dogwood tree,
pink petals on the ground,
is but one place I'd like to have
my ashes scattered round.

Then while I serve as nourishment
for this, my favorite tree,
please toss a handful from the shore
into the endless sea.

If I could ask you find a stream
where joyful times we've known,
release my ashes in the breeze
before you skip a stone.

When I have breathed that final breath,
don't death commemorate.
Return instead to places where
my life you celebrate.