I read this lovely editorial about preparing for death. In the end, the building of the pine box was more important than the box.
This led me to this beautiful poem, “The Old Astronomer (to His Pupil)” by Sarah Williams. The writer liked these lines:
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
And I also like these
I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, ‘twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.