Oh bring me not the sighing lilies

Their sweet, cloying perfume of death

Their pale, quiet faces, open mouthed in grief

Give them not to me for company

Their cold, alabaster touch

Their waxy countenances

Bringing a sad beauty, a mournful picture

Their ghostly visages

Woven into the landscape of despair

At home on the threshold

Between here and beyond

Symbols of loneliness, trumpets of pain

Oh bring me not the sighing lilies

I will have no need of their grim condolences

For while they multiply

Slowly seek to embroider all the earth about my resting place

A profusion of satin creams and verdant greens

I will not be there

I will not be cheek to marble cheek with them

Weeping for things lost, things undone

For I will be beyond the cool damp earth in which I lie

Far beyond the emptiness of remembrances

So bring me not the sighing lilies

Instead the hearts of roses offer

Their warm blushing depths

Their sensual fragrant breath

Their velvet petals

So soft, a place to rest my head

Their thorny arms to protect me

To stand between me and undesired company

Their strength and beauty standing sentry

To mark the place and guard my resting soul

Oh to walk again through the heady, blissful ancient scent

Of their profuse and varied blossoms

Oh bring me not the sighing lilies

Instead the gift of roses bring

For my soul’s delight

© Ann Bagnall