As he walks down the hill
He arrives at the cemetery, that ancient one, that resides
In front of and behind the mango bush
Once there, he clips off his fingers with a cigar cutter

He's soon to chainsaw a hand
So it can be planted in the warm earth
So it'll grow a pine tree
One that'll be torn down and rebuilt a house

He's asked his urn to be emptied behind that domicile
Knowing good and well that the storm surge
Will complete life's anonymous riddle