Oh, when I die,
burn my body
and spread me ash
over soft, green, silvan glade.
And every-time you hear a cloud
or see a lark,
think of Plato, Goethe and me.
Actually, this is one of my first poems.
And even stranger still (well to most of us
non-neurologists) -- one of the few that I
can actually recite "upon demand".
Steve Allen (the great humorist/entertainer)
could never recall his writings. He wrote
many songs, and composed much great Jazz.
(it is no small tribute that "the simpsons"
pays homage to him)
Well, that's about all there is to me.
It's just this thing you know. Sort of
like having gum stuck to the bottom of
Tiresome at the time, but then later on,
you realize that it too has faded from sight.
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