Andy Warhol (Bored) at Your Funeral

Your death, cold, prolonged by disease 
Matters little to the bees
Circling the garden.
I don’t remember if it means
Much to me but
You used to sit in the garden
(You nurtured the plants)
And that is well since
You are no longer.
But I see you in the swaying trees
(even if)
It doesn’t matter to the bees,
I beg your pardon.

So many words to mince
I’m no elegist. 

(c) 2013