Frost

On Thanksgiving Day

I stood on a sea of glass,

Feet suspended above a carpet of earth.

Every newly-frosted spike and blade

Stood ready at attention,

Bristling in the shrill morning breeze,

Eager to prove their valor.

I bent to examine a specimen of the tide,

Newly-baptized by these newborn waves,

And found it was a leaf-

Brown and withered from the cold,

Yet laced with crystals, shimmering in the morning sun.

Though cast-off from its former perch,

Among the branches of some tree,

It now sat clothed in robes that rivaled the fairest jewels of the fairest lady.

Thus nature clothes the small,

I puzzled,

While men adorn the great.

The frozen sea at my feet began to stir, 

Hastened to speed onward by the morning sun.

Each stalk began to crackle-

And the music of water began to flow free-

Until each blade burst forth from its jeweled case and stood brave and tall,

Shoots of green in the newly-christened earth.

Epitaph for Myself

When I die,

Lay my ashes in the ground.

Lay my dust in the heart of the earth.

Scatter me beside the waters,

Beneath the heights of the trees.

Bury me beneath the stars and the moon and the sun.

Let the whole world dance around me!

For my soul shall be glad and free.

Lay me down when God takes me anew.

Bury my bones when my spirit flies home.

Lay me down, 

Underneath the carpet of a thousand stars.

Let my soul be free as the wind.

For- at last!- I shall be free.

Cry not for me, dear heart.

Shed not your tears of sympathy.

Instead of sorrow, let laughter ring.

In lieu of mourning, sing!

Sing my freedom with the voices of the waters.

Dance my joy with the wind-tossed trees.

Shout my love with the voice of the mountains!

And lay me down,

For I am free.