You must tell Kaarl, beloved brother of my heart,
Though he will surely feel
That I am gone.
To him I leave my cord-strung bat; my bouncing ball
Although he will not use them
For a while at least.
You must tell the others on the beach
That I, their swiftest runner,
Am here no more
You must tell my teacher that I leave a space
To fill with bubbling laughter
And flying feet
But do not tell the shgoreline freaks, the zing-zing drinkers;
Absorbers of blood and suckers of souls --
For they will already know