On the Day that I Died, On The Day That I lived

On the day that I died I had no memories in 
my head that were my own.
They had been passed along to others 
in order to keep them occupied
while I did more important things.
That is to say, I thought I did.
On the day that I died, I had no body,
that I left to someone else long ago
who liked it more than I did.
Especially my nose.
One the day that I died my hair
was woven into a gleaming rug
for those that I loved
to tread on. 
But I asked for this to happen.
On the day that I lived,
birds stopped their
chirrup-chirruping
and watched me walk past 
with a crown of blooming hands
​encircling my head.