spring and cemetery

the sun still shines,
as i fly by gates and green...
where the dead sleep.
who were once as alive
as i am assumed to be.
now the dying flowers creep
over ceramic urns to embrace
their silent charges.
taking nourishment from tears,
that fade them from within.
now i find i have to die,
to have flowers placed
over my sleeping head.
now i know, that when i go,
my flowers will flourish instead.