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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > When the Fat Lady Sings

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timmy
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Joined: Fri Jun 9th, 2006
Location: Oz, Minnesota USA
Posts: 1079
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And it’s time, I would like
music to murder me—
something elegant, like Chopin—
perhaps I could pre-write
the lyrics; after all, I wouldn’t want
people at my funeral merely humming ,
or worse, tapping a scuffed shoe
to a wordless tune of a life

I’d rather die with a soft song
in my head; something with violins—
like cricket legs rubbing together
on that first cold October evening
when they know frost is eminent—
a white haired preacher with a thin baton,
plus Jesus Christ himself at the back door,
making sure no one leaves early



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