Valhalla

I read today of a woman who died in New York state. She was 82, which is young by some standards. As I read I was consumed with envy that her death, too soon and tragic, happened where it did. She died in a place called Valhalla, NY. The poetry of place moved me to write a little verse.

When I die...in the far, FAR, future...I want this read:

Bare my ashes to Valhalla.
Build the pyre strong, and true.
Purge all moisture from my body,
That I may fall with Midnight's dew.
Remember me, oh dearest ones,
In prose, and deed, and song.
But bare my ashes to Valhalla,
When 'ere life's breath has gone.