Speccie Dead End
 

We expended a lot of blood, sweat and tears on this but only the ingenious Chris O'Carroll won the elusive bays. Good for him. We must up our game for this next one.

No. 2709: DEAD END
In the film Wilde, Queensberry, in conversation with Wilde, asks his position on cremation. Wilde doesn’t have one but Queensberry says, ‘When I am dead, cremate me.’ You are invited to take this as your first line and continue, in verse, for up to a further 15. Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 10 August.

Is it creMATE me?

When I am dead, cremate me,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant not me ‘neath the willow
Nor shady cypress tree:
Let not the oven sputter
With showers and dewdrops wet;
Let not me wilt like flowers,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not fear the whisk-broom,
I shall not feel the rain;
When I am in the dust-bin,
Sing on, as if in pain.
No clock’s alarm shall rouse one
That doth not rise and set,
And haply may I sleep long
And haply may forget.

Yes, Roger. As you see. Nice one, Sam.

When I am dead, cremate me,
Or bury me instead,
Or let me rot upon the road.
Who cares? I will be dead.

Or take me to death valley.
Let vultures have a feast
Upon my lifeless carcass.
I won't care in the least.

So go ahead, cremate me,
Then load me in your urn.
When I become the late me,
It won't be my concern.

When I am dead, cremate me.
Wrap me up tight and crate me,
Then just incinerate me
Like unattended bread.

With cakes and ale then fête me
And lovingly debate me.
Feel free to celebrate me
By quoting things I said.

Rather than overrate me,
Discreetly understate me.
Be gentle with the late me;
Speak kindly of the dead.

Then you may relocate me.
Scoop up my dust and freight me
And then disseminate me
Where angels fear to tread

When I am dead, cremate me,
if that's what you'd advise me.
Or bury me. I can't decide.
Why don't you just surprise me?

That "late me" is a touch of genius, Ann.

Ann's is better for sure, Sam, but did you read mine? (post #5}

When I am dead, cremate me,
but heed what I have said.
Don't even start the furnace
until you're sure I'm dead.

Hold a mirror to my mouth.
I may be breathing still.
But once you're certain I am gone,
just toss me on the grill.

And when you're done with cooking
and there's nothing left but ash,
sweep me in a paper bag
and dump me in the trash.