Fine by me. We have been burying our dead for millennia. Plant a lemon tree over my corpse and make lemonade with the bitter fruit.
Reincarnation, by Wallace McRae
What is reincarnation? A cowboy asked his friend.
It starts, his old pal told him, when your life comes to an end.
They wash your neck and comb your hair and clean your fingernails,
And put you in a padded box away from life’s travails.
The box and you goes in a hole that’s been dug in the ground.
Reincarnation starts in when you’re planted ‘neath that mound.
Them clods melt down, just like the box, and you who is inside.
And that’s when you begin your transformation ride.
And in a while the grass will grow upon your rendered mound,
Until some day, upon that spot, a lonely flower is found.
And then a horse may wander by and graze upon that flower
That once was you, and now has become your vegetative bower.
Now, the flower that the horse done eat, along with his other feed,
Makes bone and fat and muscle essential to the steed.
But there’s a part that he can’t use and so it passes through.
And there it lies upon the ground, this thing that once was you.
And if perchance, I should pass by and see this on the ground,
I’ll stop awhile and ponder at this object that I’ve found.
I’ll think about reincarnation, and life and death and such,
And come away concluding, why, you ain’t changed all that much.