My Request

By James W. Whilt

When I leave this old dreary world
To cross to the Great Unknown;
Don’t bury me in a costly tomb
Or raise a shaft of stone—
But lay me on some hill-side,
Mid the forest that I love;
Where the wild flowers bloom around me
And the eagle soars above:
With an ancient ledge above me,
One that is all moss-grown;
These words inscribed upon it,
“He is one of Nature’s own.
One who loved the forest,
One who loved the hills,
Although his soul has taken flight,
His foot-steps echo still.”

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