"Then he started to write another poem

a short time before death, 

about drinking wine again in the village —

He was working on the poem when they buried him, 

so that half a line protruded from the earth

                                 in wind and weather's hearing —

With sunlight touching the first young syllables, 

the last ones flowering from a dark coffin: 

                      "marketplace the in/drink more One"

from Lu Yu

by Al Purdy