The Moon
I haven *t on tered enough
Evon yet
Into aloept or laid the rough
Will to bad.
I toll myself to let
Dia my will
To porsuados
I would slowly glide
Through the wators
of the earth
Loaving no trail
Until they said
I had no braath
And must be dead
And left me one by one
In white integritys
Then my shaky quartore
Would stand alone
In the wind,
The leaves would touch
Thom without pain
Or wile,
The queen-moon slowly reach


Her height among the stare
In sweet etamityt
And I would set
In all ay lfe
No couree but heraa