when you lay me in the black earth,
do not grieve for me –
do not weep for me –
know in the still of your heart
that the pine roots stretch to meet me.
that every green thing sings my name,
while the rivers rise with heavy rain,
and you will see me once again,
as the sky gives way to colours-change,
where the horizon greets the land.

in the dreary dark of night,
as the stars burst forth
their glinting light
and the coyotes prowl and howl
toward the moon.

there i will be,
there i will be,
free, as a sycamore tree,
as every green thing sings –
laying me to rest, easy,
as the dawn brings,
the gentle wings of little birds
guiding me on toward
the orange of home.