I am that final thing,
A man learning to sing.
Theodore Roethke, "The Dying Man"
In what little time I have left to me now
I want to live as simply as this sparrow,
Caring nothing of time, wakening into
The present hunger and song of each day,
The work of flight from one into the other,
A dreamless sleep in the dark of pines.
And when it is my time, to simply rise up
In my last grateful soaring, never knowing.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 800 times
Written on 2013-05-11 at 19:07
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