I hope I die in summer
on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,
and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,
a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,
harmoniously,
without me.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
I hope I die in summer
on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,
and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,
a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,
harmoniously,
without me.
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