The Afterlife I Wish

I would come back here, to contemplate trees;

to gaze again, when I’m bodiless, on

mountains, rivers, clouds and stars, skies and seas.

Could Paradise hold such treasures as these?

Missing them, how could I ever move on?

I would come back here to contemplate trees,

their deliberate glory. Yes, they'll please

others who will love them, after I’ve gone –

also mountains, rivers, clouds, stars, skies, seas –

yet why should that mean my own joy must cease?

I don’t see the need for my being gone!

I would return here to stare long at trees.

I would enter unseen, light as a breeze,

not to disturb you, but just look upon

dear mountains, rivers, clouds, stars, skies and seas.

I would be transparent, taking my ease

on airy cloud-pillows. Death, you see, frees.

So I’d come back, to keep drinking in trees,

mountains, rivers, clouds, stars, vast skies, deep seas. 

(Photo mine.)

Written for Friday Writings #111 at Poets and Storytellers United: What would your ghost come back for? It's a bit of a riposte to the poem mentioned there, Fare Well by Walter de la Mare.

The form is a villanelle.