When it is time

When it is time let me die in Africa, lay me down facing the sun, let me become dust in this place where I began. When it is time let me die in Africa, lay me beneath the Blue Gum trees, let me hear their voices ever more. When it is time let me die in Africa, let me to walk at sunset, let the evening song of birds call me to my bed. When it is time let me die in Africa, resting in ochre warmth, my eyes lifted to the sky poised for a dance on Orion’s belt. Bury me barefoot in the ochre soil, roll me up in unbleached linen, hemmed with white daisy chains. Bury me deep enough to stand on the granite rock, my head crowned with daisy roots, vining through my Father’s hand. Bury me barefoot as in childhood, I began.