No Perfect Time

I don't want to die in the winter
when the cold crackling ground
is covered in snow
and the grass is brown.
I don't want to lie in a chilly grave-
Have the wind blow the flowers away
from my bleak resting mound.

I don't want to die in the spring
when the earth starts to breathe
with the sweetness of life-
Oh, how could I leave?
I don't want to lie in a rainy grave-
watch the birds all fly away
and yellow daffodils grieve.

I don't want to die in the summer
when the hot, sultry sun
shouts of picnics and pool sides
and places of fun.
I don't want to lie in a stuffy grave-
beneath a dusty summer wave-
and life be done.

I don't want to die in the autumn
when crimson leaves begin to fall
and inky skies come alive
with the geese's call.
I don't want to lie in a lonely grave
while the smells of autumn drift away-
and days grow small.

I don't want to die at all.