when the wind-weathered willow bows its last laboured breath
and the lake laps the pebbled shore in one final flurried death;
as the moon in pearly dander glances earthbound in its end
and bids a fond farewell to its close and constant friend;
when the morning turns to evening in its cycle’s glad extent;
as the reader’s eager mind sees – ‘ah! so that is what they meant!’;
when all we know of life and breath draws out in waves of sand,
will you still be with me to stand by and hold my hand?