Aeroportus Cladis Poem by Marcel Aouizerate

It matters not where I am headed
Nor when I am likely to arrive,
When I'll die, you'll mourn at CDG,
And you'll bury me at SFO.

Little is said by way of where
I am coming from, what my name is,
Or my singular occupation,
When I'll die, let someone else pick up
My luggage from the carrousel.

Whoever may attend the funeral,
You'll see them through
The security portals, barefoot
And bareheaded as customary.
When I'll die, I'll rest free of duty.

It matters not when I'll reach the gate,
Whether I'll be late or on the next flight,
Whether someone will have to disembark,
When I'll die, you'll mourn at TLV,
And you'll bury me at SFO.