All could seem like a dream,
These grey skies, this pouring rain, this sodden earth.
But it does not, for these are real as anything.
What does this mean that these exist,
Measured against the need to say farewell?
Sorrow and joy have equal weight;
Turn one over to find the other.
As I look down the length of my days past,
I do not mourn.
The clouds have always been beautiful;
Tears matter no more than any other water;
The dirt accepts us without regard.
If I have forgotten to thank you or you or you,
Let these words suffice as time runs out.
I am so very grateful.
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