A Sonnet to be Read Upon My Death


In time, before Iíve spent my span of days
And am within my coffin laid to view,
I dread the dream that Iíd be proffered praise
For wiser words and deeds I deigned to do.
If good were served, I know that itís a fact,
As much as death evokes such charity,
That Iíve created havoc winds that cracked
And bent the souls I hold most dear to me.

So, now, in death, donít let my lifeís truth grow
To fiction forced by the profoundest plot.
Instead let memory of me lie low
As grass thatís cut and edged into its lot.
	Just say that I was human Ėeminently so Ė
	And that I threw a sharp and heavy Shadow.

Kenneth OíKeefe