When My Final Roll Call Comes Poem by Mark Heathcote

When an undulating wind takes my last breath,
may it find a lair where the lion snores?
may it rest in the tranquil depths-of-the-Everglades
in a mangrove swamp, where-an-alligator
glides, with preening white passengers on its back?
When my final roll call comes,
May it be found in a bluebell wood napping?

Or in an urn, an acorn cup, slumbering in moss
when my final roll call comes,
may the gates of heaven rust and remain frozen,
and the gates of Eden be reopened,
when an undulating wind takes my last serpent breath,
I want to hear the nightingales sing
for all eternity, eternally all-day long.