It’s our final sacrifice,
Dying, lying in our linen shrouds,
No embalming, no device
Of preservation, no dead crowds
Of slaves or wives to keep us company
On some long journey into night,
No brass fittings, no mahogany
Encasing us, but wrapped in white
And lowered simply into sand or earth
Then covered gently to the song of sighs,
Each pebble placed a prayer for a rebirth
God owes us for our final sacrifice.

LRH
3.29.06
To Tomas De Faoite replying to his questions about Gershon's Bury the Patriarch

Linda Hepner

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kaddish/