Good Death

Do not let me go on such a day,
of dark clouds and pending rain.
Leave no one weeping
against the hospital wall.
Let no one run lost through the rain
denying my end.
Let me go after the snows and dark of January,
after the blusterings of March.
Let there be no need for detectives
conversant in wounds,
or doctors, pondering over the marks on bones.

Let me die on a spring day,
and leave no trace of my life.
Let it be a warm day,
like the first warm day,
that lets you believe
Winter was never here.

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