October 28, 2007

When the winds of the forest find me at their feet,

May they weep for me, as I weep for myself.

When the passage of time slows and offers a hand

May I accept it with a willing smile.


The storm clouds grow in the distance

And the grains of sand fall quickly as I fight for breath.

We may live to see another day

But will we cease to bite the hands that shelter us?