Let the moss reclaim these wearied bones
Leaves and branches twining through every fissure
The cracks and caverns grow with each individual vine
Let the moss reclaim what once was mine.

The soil, the trees, the wind, and the rain;
Let it bury me fully, let it settle in the marrow,
and fill up all of my ever-reaching veins.

I can’t tell you whether this is melancholy,
wrapped in beautiful bows of benevolence,
Or just another plea to silence the sorrow within-

But what remains is a body brittle with grief
And a soft voice echoing through the Earth
Crooning a lullaby upon the barks of trees
That ruthlessly refuse to bend.

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