Crad'ling in your foster arms <br /> The grave wherein I lie-- <br /> Hold high this tiny cross that is the all of me <br /> That some within this hating world may see. <br /> And--tell them how passionately I longed to live, how desperately <br /> Wring from their hears my teardrops left unshed; <br /> Be thou my living, now I am dead. <br /> Ay, tell them my emptiness who chance to see <br /> Ye last, last speech that doth remain to me.<br /><br />Henry McCone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/foreign-hillside-neath-this-foreign-sky/
