When I am dead, cremate me,
but let's not jump ahead.
Do not assassinate me,
don't bomb or detonate me,
don't stab and ventilate me,
don't snuff or liquidate me,
don't drown or dehydrate me,
or worse, defenestrate me,
and don't exterminate me,
and don't obliterate me,
and don't annihilate me,
and don't eviscerate me,
and don't depopulate me,
and don't deactivate me.
I said you could cremate me,
but I said "When I am dead."

That's good, Roger. Sounds like Dylan :D

Grass Fingers
Angelina Weld Grimke

Touch me, touch me,
Little, cool grass fingers,
Elusive, delicate grass fingers,
With your shy brushings;
Touch my face--
My naked arms--
My thighs--

My feet.
Is there nothing that is kind?
You need not fear me.
Soon I shall be too far beneath you
For you to reach me, even
With your tiny, timorous toes.

That's how I find all my rhymes. No wonder I write ignominious stuff like this (which I don't think I'll submit, but had to get out of my system before I could get to work on a real entry):

‘When I am dead, cremate me’,
Quoth he. Life cries, ‘Fellate me!
Open me! Penetrate me!’
What though some Peer berate me,
The law incarcerate me,
Newspapers denigrate me?
Whatever griefs await me,
I feel your love elate me.
Let ordeals consecrate me,
Art rehabilitate me.

Post mortem, ash and urn me.
Alive, I feel you burn me
With such an exquisite flame
That it dare not speak its name
Lest a frowned-on piece of tail
Land a bloke in Reading Gaol.

why the apologetics?
 

Blimey, I use RhymeZone when necessary, thesaurus, anything. All resources are legitimate except one – plagiarism. It's what you do with the stuff you look up that counts.

When I am dead, cremate me
if you can’t resuscitate me.
If you can, it would be damnable
to prove that I am flammable.
But if you cannot rouse me,
then find an urn to house me.

It's not that I am eager
to become a pile of meager
crumbly ashes in an urn
when the reaper says Your turn.
But it strikes me as less gruesome
than to let some maggot chew some
of my flesh when they entomb me.
I'd rather flames consume me.
.
.

It ain't plagiarism until you are found out. Though I must confess I wouldn't care to win with someone else's verse.

Or worse, you could lose with someone else's verse. At least if you win you can claim good taste in what you steal.

Fellas and girls, I hate to break it to, ya. Ann's is the winner.