When I Go ©
Use my donor's card. Dispose of the packaging sensibly.
Jim (Jock) Love
Place me not beneath mother earth's soil,
Dig no more trenches for me,
Entomb me not behind some brass plate,
For time to tarnish and neglect.
I still feel the cold winds of the South,
That make my body ache, yes, even now.
So roast my bones quickly,
Let the flames purge my soul.
Scatter my ashes high on a hill,
Like my father before me.
Let the Scottish wind take my earthly remnants,
As I return one last time . . . . . . . . . . .
To the land of my birth.