If, upon my death,
I must depart this earthly shell,
Perhaps I shall become a stone–
A stone would suit me well.
I would spend my time at the riverside.
I would never count the years.
No celestial extrapolation,
Bound by earthly fears.
But a stone passes its’ duration
Never feeling sad or alone.
It is hard to have a feeling
Being cold as a stone.
No, perhaps a stone is not quite right–
An inanimate object is not for me.
Perhaps a thing with living feelings;
Something simple as a tree.
I would break the ground and seek the sun;
Issue forth from fertile seed.
I would plunge a root in search of nourishment.
Upon the earth I would feed.
And as the years dispensed themselves
In circles round the sun,
I’d bind a ring about myself
In celebration for each one.
Oh but the storms that can wrack the limbs
And jar the sensitivity;
Oh how the cruel fingers of Winter
Claw at the bark so ruthlessly.
I could not stand the solitude.
I fear that flaw in me.
I fear I am not brave enough
To live life as a tree.
There remains but one alternative,
One ghost of a thought to pursue–
If I must leave this life behind,
I will return as you.
I will learn your moods and temperament.
I will learn your methods and your ploys.
I will taste your bitter sorrows
And feel the fine elation of your joys.
I do not wish to die,
To say else would be untrue.
But I hope when the moment comes
That I may pass from myself unto you.