On the occasion of my death,
after I've drawn my final breath,
burn me up, release my spirit,
read a poem, that all may hear it,
scatter me where some flowers grow
or bury my ashes deep and low,
then say a few words about my life,
how I knew joy, but also strife,
mainly tell how I strove to reach
the students whom I tried to teach
about the past, but really more,
the demands of the moral law.
It wasn't just about worn facts,
but about choices and caring acts,
the need for justice & compassion,
for reason, yes, but also passion.
Last, for Sandy and my two sons,
a stilled heart beats: you were the ones.

Thoughts on reaching
my 60th birthday

October 20, 2006

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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