Doomed blossoms, strewn above my head,
Not placed by God but grieving hands,
Your fragrance lost on granite stone,
Which bears the name I left behind.
This silent form beneath the sod,
The bitter tears of sorrows past,
A darkness lost to cleansing light;
These things I gladly leave behind.
The days and nights so quickly pass,
You bow your heads, your petals fall,
But save your sorrow for yourselves,
For I have left this world behind.
Use well, this fading blush of life,
A spark of truth within you lies!
Save not salvation to yourselves,
But share with those you leave behind.
Learn from me, my solemn friends,
To drop your seeds on fertile ground,
So truth can blossom past your death,
And grace the earth you leave behind.
Weep not, grieve not, I implore,
For through the grave is freedom gained,
Shed tears instead for those unsaved,
And mourn the millions left behind.
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