Author Information
I Become
I slip amongst the last
Dawn of winter
I feel the fast fallen leaves
one last death
before the rising green
It's gentle and kind
Calm and right
A dance of thistle shod
earth
trod and heel tilled
ready for the moon to fill
and the sun to settle warm
unheld by cold winds
unbought
yet still
There is no journey prepared for me
No solemn promise
No destined
Only my hands
Only my feet
my eyes look heavy
yet only higher
if I am to be
and become
I become
