I
grass growing
through the concrete cracks;
roots spreading
and loosening the stones —
nature’s transplant rejection
II
mossy roof,
a cabin in the woods,
nature swallows
and digests all intruders
if given enough time
III
every living thing
becomes food in due time;
i’m fungi food;
should a wolf crack my corpse bones,
who am i to complain?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 
Wonderful poem. Who are any of us to complain once we leave this shell of a body?
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Thank you very much. Indeed.
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Poignant!
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I’m at peace with the idea of every living thing returning to the earth but I’d rather a wolf didn’t crack my corpse bones unless he was tiptoeing over them. I was at sky burial when in Tibet and it’s not a gentle affair. I think I’d prefer a peaceful gradual return to the earth when the circle of life closes in on me.
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