To the Caretaker

To the Caretaker of the Garden of Memories
and Columbarium

Nay, scold them not! rather, suffer the little…

May the Lord forgive these stone-cold ashes
Grim product of the Ustor’s rashness
Should they warm and begin to glow a bit for the
Children’s busy pattering fingertips
Sparking dancing toe taps
Joyous noisy voices
All come ringing to my cranny
To drown the Barker of Bones’ hawking final 
Victory at this, my Worm’s Carnival narrowly avoided-
That at least they may laugh that the Worm has a waist!