Mockingbird
If my weeping corpse too grave
sits under the forest lane,
kiss it soft on my behalf,
Promise it to mourn by half,
'Cause from it shall I return
Hollow from my spirit's burn;
Yet from sky I'll fly toward
You, just like a mockingbird,
To kiss the grave that I've been in,
To welcome you into my dream.
And them, who've waited me in trial,
I shall damn into denial.