As I see the setting sun,
I’m reminded that I, too, am one
lying down for my repose,
pen in hand, I write my prose
and say a prayer for those few souls
who wish me well on my sojourn
I need not tell them they have earned
my great esteem,
they are destined for great things
and I only hope that when they grow wings
they remember the song I sing:
I am no servant, but they are kings.
As I see the rising moon,
I’m reminded that one day soon
the words I write, the riddles and runes
will bloom like flowers from the dunes.
For I have seen the desert sands
and tried to shape them with my hands.
Do not think that I am damned,
for as I depart, I see the lands
I leave were but a dream,
and I wake to reality.
To those who wish me harm I nod
and wish them well, they are the sod
from which future trees may grow,
I hope they’re planted where they know
that I see the mighty boughs
that will replace the willows they are now.
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