MISSING
I leave behind the usual clutter
Of unfinished business,
Regrets, and roads not taken in life
I also leave my heart poured out on paper
Undiscovered glimpses of my life
To be enjoyed by any who find them good
Or perhaps to be ridiculed,
As being to soft and light for the modern world
Whatever the fate of my work,
It seems petty, in the face of the poetry
Of my true and final resting place
I say now to those who might care for me
“Do not look for me in the harsh lights of the city
Nor in the cool foothills of the mountains
I have gone home to stay”
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