Sepulcher

When I am laid to rest, if I exist, if I am I, I would like, in Lawrence Ferlinghett's unforgettable words for. . .

      a very tall and very purely naked

                                     young virgin

     with very long and very straight

                               straw hair

        and wearing only a very small

                                    bird’s nest

       in a very existential place

                     [to keep] passing thru the crowd

                                              all the while

               and up and down the steps

                                in front of Saint Francis

      her eyes downcast all the while

                                   and singing to herself

. . . only I would like him to have short brown hair:

If you find yourself in a reflexive mood today, here are several versions each of two great contralto solos, one from The Mikado by Gilbert and Sullivan (I kid you not) and one from Dido and Aeneas  by Hank Percel.
TheMikado:

Dido and Aeneas:

a modern dance version 

And now JJ tells me it's time to water the plants in front, and water the plants in back, and fill the brides' water dish, an wash the breakfast dishes -- in short, to pay attention the him.  I hear and obey.

Here's the entire Ferlinghetti poem, which has been a part of me for Lo! these many yeas:

They were putting up the statue

               of Saint Francis

            in front of the church

               of Saint Francis

              in the city of San Francisco

   in a little side street

                      just off the Avenue

                                         where no birds sang

     and the sun was coming up on time

                                          in its usual fashion

          and just beginning to shine

                              on the statue of Saint Francis

           where no birds sang

   And a lot of old Italians

                            were standing all around

     in the little side street

                              just off the Avenue

       watching the wily workers

                           who were hoisting up the statue

 with a chain and a crane

                         and other implements

And a lot of young reporters

                            in button-down clothes

 were taking down the words

                           of one young priest

   who was propping up the statue

                                 with all his arguments

   And all the while

                    while no birds sang

                             any Saint Francis Passion

and while the lookers kept looking

                                  up at Saint Francis

    with his arms outstreched

                          to the birds which weren’t there

      a very tall and very purely naked

                                     young virgin

     with very long and very straight

                               straw hair

        and wearing only a very small

                                    bird’s nest

       in a very existential place

                       kept passing thru the crowd

                                              all the while

               and up and down the steps

                                in front of Saint Francis

      her eyes downcast all the while

                                   and singing to herself

Here's a tatue of St. Francis in San Francisco:

Heere's St. Francis, resisting the temptation to masturbate, with a little help from an friendly angel:

I think Caravaggio, but I an't find it again.  Help, please.

What a guy!