Eye Of A Needle

I want my ashes
Stored in an urn,
Head-shaped,
A replica of mine
Preferably,
If you can run to it,
But any head will do,
In porcelain,
Daubed with
Centipedes,
Stag beetles,
Flies, spiders
And other
Assorted creatures.

In life I realise
I was terrified
Of such things,
But in death
I want it noted
That I beat them,
They didn’t get me,
I am not screaming,
Place me gently
On a mantelpiece
Where I can survey
You living on
Without me,
And forgetting.

My face ought
To be pinched
With a frown,
As a reflection
Of my gravitas,
Engraved at base
It should boldly
Declare, ‘I reached
The conclusion
That life was often
Like threading
A needle, a very
Small needle’s eye
With thick wool’.