The reaper's hand bids me die
And buried under sands of time
How peaceful could I truly lie
In wooden coffin warm and dry
Stifling as a soul of grime?

When I could be buried in the clay
And meld as one into the earth
And soon will see the light of day
For as water wears me away
Coming up into my rebirth

And into the stream I may find rest
Or life again, as erosion tolls
Against the earthy gopher nests
And sunshine-oh, that would be best!
Glints as my water rushes and rolls

And as hot sun fades into eve
And o'er hills does climb the moon
And silenced is the long-billed reeve
As darkness does the daylight cleave
And as awakens the laughing loon

Or perhaps become a drop of dew
My soul contained in a diamond's tear
To glisten, under light rays few
Before the daylight darkness slew
And dance with moonlight without fear

To gaze up at the fierce night sky
As the smallest being dark could bring
And be moved by wind's whisper or sigh
Or a flutter of wings passing by
And hear the crickets chirping ring

Dawn will soon its colors cast
O'er hill and vale and dew itself
And night will leave too fast, too fast!
And morning breeze will not last
As sweet and swift as sprint of elf

Oh, perhaps to be the northern wind
A wayward promise to the earth, and I-
I would hear tales of the blessed and sinned
And to nothing be anchored or pinned
For freedom is the breadth of the night sky

Why, through the stars I would fly and dance
Brushing the velvet sky with glee
Moon and sun go by in trance
And silently the heavens entrance
Then swiftly down to Earth would flee

Oh, to be a winged and feathered bird
To dive into forest of strange beasts
On the edges of silence, onward spurred
Through night so swift the stars are blurred
Freedom and the wind, my true feasts

Why, freedom lives in none abound
As in a bird, a predator of night
Quiet birds in circles fly 'round
And gracefully, without a sound
Land as swans, end their flight

So hark, my friend, and heed my last words
I endure this cycle, Mother Nature's womb
Whether in the rain or the spirit of a bird
Whether in wind or forests unstirred
Years hence, do not weep at my tangled tomb

19 April 2004