am I but a feather on the wind,
drifting aimlessly along?
am I only a beauty soon to be gone,
taken away by the wind and its song?
would I rest if I was weary,
sleeping sound until the dawn?
pushing, always working,
running life's marathon.
is death my prize, I think not,
but do I deserve any better?
for we all turn to dust,
but some control their time,
and leave behind..  a letter.