On a bed of woven wormwood and myrrh
Say the holy words from blessed mouth
Of distant gods and long forgotten ancient lore
As you place my cold flesh on the scented hearth
May it rise to golden clouds of heaven
Or for my sins descend into the darkness of hell.
For no soul now resides in this skeleton
As it has happened since the dawn of man
And a thousand times before the old ones tell
So burn my body in the old way
Pray naught do not grieve
Because my life is no more
Instead
Let my body rest
In a fire of woven wormwood and myrrh
As did the distant gods and all who came before
From The Two towers or was it Return of the King..... When the Steward of Gondor Denethor II, set his youngest son Boromir on fire
@ Copyright Tammy M. Darby Jan. 21, 2019.
All Poems Stored in Author Base