I kept as solitary as a wood alone And often walked till all I knew dwindled to rumor Talked from another country in a half-heard-of humor. When death gave me up, I could keep the bones. 5 Today, having at last journeyed past myself, I looked into a little wayside brook Which, by caring nothing, all my nothing took. I left a husk to worry a rocky shelf.
From the collection "Assembling the Earth"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.