A Tale to Bring Happiness to Your Sleep

Poetry

The ground is black and sky is red

and crows are low around my head

with clothes of twine and bed of stone

I am prepared to die alone

Before the mountains fall upon me

a speck of white becomes a tree

and blooms and grows quick into ten

and then over one hundred again

A forest now where ash was

and flowers too and bees that buzz

and sting my heart without the pain

so I can lie down in the rain

And wash me of the blaring past

that I once thought was gravely vast

and let me take this for you to keep

a tale to bring happiness to your sleep