Escaping the confinement of a tin urn, my ashes <br />are soon dispensed by a gentle sea breeze <br />All which remains is lifted like it had wings, <br />from out of the southeast, warmed <br />by the Gulf streams temperament; <br />I am not the slightest bit cold. <br />Scattered like a purified dew <br />on the face of a virgin sea <br />I am finally free… <br /> <br />2008 © TS<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-last-7/
