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AngelSeeker (#47301151)
 member for 4 years, 4 months, 17 days
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Bio and Links
Bio Photo I am a freelance photographer, writer, and blogger in Columbia, South Carolina.

I have the privilege of being a contributor to American Cemetery magazine.

In addition to my blog I'm Having A Thought Here, I have two photography websites:

Jennifer Weber Photography
Angel Funeral Photography


When I am dead, this be my will
And codicil:

To earth I do bequeathe and give
My fugitive
Obstreperous flesh, for flower and wheat
Blithely to eat.

My bones enduring tracery,
I leave to be
Exhibit labelled -- categoric --
"Man: prehistoric."
Having no need of it, past death,
I give my breath
To air, that is the bird's abode
And the sun's road.

The world -- her Maytime trees that loom
White hills of bloom, --
Her bluebirds like winged iris shaken
Where buds awaken, --
Her cloud-deep skies, or daisy thicket
Shading the cricket, --
I leave to any who, like me,
Has eyes to see.

I give -- if it persists -- my song
To bless and throng
The swift twelve winds of the world that fly
Through all the sky,
Blown -- a winged thistleseed of sound --
Toward its own ground.

I yield that love that tortured me
With ecstasy
To any strong enough to bear
Joy of despair.
As for my joy itself, I deed it
To all who need it --
Hitch-hikers, seedy and too grey ...
Or dogs astray
At whom the careless hand has thrown
The careful stone.

Sadness, that made my young heart grave,
I give to save
All of earth's callous ones who go
Unhelped by woe;
My loneliness to everyone
Who seeks the sun.

To my lord, Don Quixote, hurled
Against the world
By his own nobleness, to be
Men's mockery,
I will my madness -- to increase
His tragic peace.

My cowardice I keep: of such
Men have too much.

To scholars for inheritance,
My ignorance!
Pure darkness, eager for truth's white
Amazing light.

I deed my laughter to the wise,
To clear their eyes;
And any surplus to a cow --
For she knows how
To moo and put a poker face
On the world's grace,
Making by genial occult powers
Cream out of flowers.

I give my anger and my hate
To wake, though late,
Albino gentle souls that dwell
Meekly in hell;
I will my lazy calm to bless
Their restlessness
Who take nine stitches to save one
Best left undone.

I leave my strength to aid the rose
Against the snows;
My patience to the snows that keep
Earth safe asleep.

I give the Dawn for those to take
Who are awake.

Last, I leave Death whatever he
Can hold of me.

= E. Merrill Root =

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