SKULL SONG

I am sitting here in the sun
Watching the kittens playing
And the children playing
And I am convinced
There is nothing worth doing more.
The sun,
Which has a bad habit of burning everything up,
Is burning up the past
Like a thick, shrouding fog.

If the children ask me why
I am putting flowers in the skull
Of my mother,
I say, it looks better that way,
I say, why not?
And now when they draw on it with their crayons
As they will draw on mine later
I do not scold them.