Last Things Poem by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THERE is no one to do it for me,
But I know what I shall do
When the last dawn breaks o'er me
And the last night is through.

I shall set in pleasant order
The little books I knew,
With flowers on the window ledge
In a shallow bowl of blue.

I'll leave the out door swinging,
(As it might swing for you)
And on the clean swept door-sill
Wild roses I shall strew--

So when pale Death comes trailing
Her branch of sodden rue
She'll gather up my gay content
And know contentment too!