The light is dim
But I make my way
Through oaks
through brush,
where the mustard flowers lay

There’s words to say,
but the air grabs my breath
Not a moment too soon
before imminent death

I cry to the skies
and fall to the ground
limbs weary
heart’s dreary
longing to be found

It’s not too late
the frog croaks in my throat
but the night’s shades fall in
and the crickets sound notes

The fall is too great
I was already weak
I lie there to die
on that path by the creek

Who will come
to halt this last sail
to make victorious this last struggle
to make amends this whole trail

Not me
Not me
Says the blanketed earth
All alone
I lie quiet
In death, I seek birth