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His name is Clay,
and how appropriate,
he spreads his ashes every day,
from cigarettes he smokes
in level piles in an ashtray
made from the clay of the earth...
as nature takes its course.

His name was Clay,
and it was appropriately read,
just the other day,
as they spread his ashes,
In a pasture he favored,
over an ashtray of earthen clay,
where eventually it all settled
in level piles,
as nature took its course.

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Ralph Deeds profile image

Ralph Deeds 7 years ago

"I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot soles."

The greatest American poems--

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