The Crows, The Wind And Poem by kendall thomas

The crows will still call across the Cumberland
Long after I’m gone.
The wind will still wend its way through the tall grasses
And the trees.
The locusts will still dropp their sweet scent in the spring
along with the honeysuckle,
And that which is left of me will still be a part of the whole.

But what is that to one,
Who lives and breathes,
To become a lump of clay or a willow tree?

Yet would I want eternal youth?
Would insensible beauty be a joy forever
Or a chain around the neck?

How I have grown tired of this old world
With all its myriad facets.

How tired and wasted, then, a god must be
Who knows the morrow.