It is my hope
that the afterlife
not be splendid.
I do not wish for glory,
choruses, or colors.
Only a cup of tea,
and beautiful music playing
softly, in another room.
I hope there are not
too many people:
my husband, perhaps.
He will read the paper, silently.
I will sip my tea,
and look out the window,
where someone else’s glory
revels on the horizon,
somewhere far from me.
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