"...before the walls of Minas Tirith.."

My doom is not decided, at least not by myself. I'm still not certain that it is completely settled, but if I had a choice I am not sure just what I would want it to be. Certainly not a heart attack from blockage, or falling and breaking myself because of frail, demineralized bones.

I think that I would like to be taking a lovely stroll on a breezy afternoon in the early fall, probably through Hot Springs, and then absentmindedly fall into a hole in the ground right in front of me. I don't know just what would do me in; probably not the direct impact, but hitting something on the way down and then landing on the injured anatomy. Or swinging from a trapeze over a faulty net.

I know that this probably sounds like a morbid discussion to have with oneself, but I have found that for myself, making light of anything helps me come to terms with it. It's sometimes easier than trying to actually explain things. As case in point, some poems are wonderful at doing just this thing, such as this jolly poem:

I Saw A Jolly Hunter
__________________

I saw a jolly hunter
With a jolly gun
Walking in the country
In the jolly sun.

In the jolly meadow
Sat a jolly hare.
Saw the jolly hunter.
Took jolly care.

Hunter jolly eager-
Sight of jolly prey.
Forgot gun pointing
Wrong jolly way.

Jolly hunter jolly head
Over heels gone.
Jolly old safety catch
Not jolly on.

Bang went the jolly gun.
Hunter jolly dead.
Jolly hare got clean away.
Jolly good, I said.

---
Charles Causley