Pine crate

Written 11 September 2017

I worked all my life
To wed, love my wife,
Raise a child,
Cultivate my flower bed;
Build a home,
Just to get a fine
Piece of real estate:
My grave,
Only to die instead.
And what a fine view
I'm left,
A pine crate,
And chrysanthemums
I can't see,
Which grow above my head.