A day further away from birth,
I stare at graves I haven’t seen in years.
Halfway here and neither there,
I feel the pulling of the Earth,
she wants my body to endow
what she claims is rightfully hers.
There’s death around me in the Autumn air.
How glad am I to leave this place. For now.
For now I’m safe as I can go,
aware of how, in some, uncounted, years,
one might stare here at my grave,
where weeds and flowers wildly grow.
Earth takes me back where I belong
as this is where we all end up.
It doesn’t matter what they will engrave;
long gone am I by then. Let them be wrong.
I made this picture in the woods here, not on a graveyard. It smelled a bit like rot though!