When I Die, Plant a Tree

 When I die, lay me to rest in the gentle embrace of my farm in Sergoit—

In the rich, red soils that have fed generations, beneath the open skies I once called home.
Let mine be a resting place not of cold stone, but of life and renewal.
Beside my grave, plant a tree—one that will stretch its branches toward the heavens,
A haven for birds to nest, sing, and shelter; a symbol of continuity and peace.

And beside that tree, plant a bougainvillea flower,
Its vibrant petals dancing in the wind, a reminder of beauty in all seasons.
Let the roots of both reach deep into the earth,
As I return to the land that nurtured me and find eternal communion with nature.

I do not wish to be remembered in silence, but in the rustle of leaves,
In birdsong at dawn, and in blossoms that bloom with each passing year.
In death, may I still be part of life—woven into the land,
Living on through every branch, every petal, every breeze that sweeps through Sergoit.