When I am dead,
six feet below
and rain softens the ground
I will scrape the earth away
with cold, stiff hands
and wave at passers by.
I will take pleasure in the torment,
laugh zanily and call to them.
My bones will rattle with delight
as they run and scream.
What mischief, what fun
I will have when I die.
I'll not let the living
forget me, no!
I'll prop myself up
to be a nuisance
and cackle and creek
to reap my revenge on life.
Ruth Walters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-am-dead-10/
