Let my death be a source of light,
for the generation of those I am leaving.
Let the memory of my life be a source
of connection, weaving hope
like a beacon when I pass
through that coming darkeness.
Let me at least send flowers
to those who come after me,
Even if these blooms
are no more than dandelions
feeding on my fingers and toes.
Oh please, Great Spirit, allow
that I may not have lived in vain;
Let the beautiful cosmos have my flesh
and remain vital, living, always growing.
Let whatever is my spirit not depart
this earth where I have loved,
where I have been loved,
where I have known something
of immortality.