‘Do you want to be buried or burnt’ You ask me at dinner You could have asked when we were driving When I could get away with being distracted ‘Probably burnt but remember I’d be dead already, I wouldn’t be alive’ But now have you got an image of me being burnt alive... ‘Bodies get turned into ash when they are burnt A bit like the ash from the fire’ Suspiciously you glance at the wood burner Your face creases with sadness as your mind begins to whirl ‘Who will be at my funeral mummy, You’ll be dead’ Spaghetti shows itself again from your mouth as you stop chewing and your tears take over You crawl into my arms Such big thoughts for your little heart.
little voices 