Somewhere North

Somewhere north, it is spring.
The sun is bright, so bright,
and a soft velvet yellow,
warm on my skin.
Lazy blooms nod in the wind,
and a clear, cold brook
babbles about the ages
somewhere out of sight.
And the grass, still moist of dew,
and tickling against my bare skin,
as I lay in the meadow, somwhere north,
somewhere far from home.
I am old and worn and tired.
I have no more need of this world.
Now the world only has need of me,
to take me back as dust and bone.
A shroud of sunlight,
nodding blossom mourners,
and the grass pallbearers carrying me,
I slip away, my memories on the wind.
In this meadow, back as dust,
the scavengers communion feast.
Mother, I never knew you.
Mother, I know you now.

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