O suns and skies and clouds of June, and flowers of June together. Ye >>
Oh, write of me, not Died in bitter pains, but Emigrated to another st >>
Nor has his death the world deceiv'd than his wondrous life surprise d >>
If men could see the epitaphs their friends write they would believe t >>
When I die, my epitaph should read: She Paid the Bills. That's the sto >>
Oh, write of me, not Died in bitter pains, but Emigrated to another star!