Don't stand before my grave and weep

Don't stand before my grave and weep;
For like poetry I only die in theories of my sleep,
'Rather merry with aromatic culinary mead,
Until myriad tear-tribes flow from your eyes and bleed.

Don't stand before my grave and weep;
'Rather play for me an exotic night-peice,
I want to hear the symphathetic strings of that viol,
I want to feel the redundant harrows of that harp.

Like a Kachikau cactus blooming from peerage so be I,
Evergreen like myrtle so be me,
And that seed of overripeness shall burn at my sight...
As I marry death to die only in theories of my sleep,

Don't stand before my grave and weep,
For the glorifiable him has put this on oath,
Now we are binded by a single noose,
To live only and only those dying lose,
so don't stand there and weep!