There is no peace upon the bed
That lies beneath the stones.
There is no silence in the pit
That traps my soggy bones.

I won’t come clawing into light,
Nor will I haunt the moor.
I’ll only be a memory –
a scribble on the score.

The fox, she barks at shadows gone,
of branches in the night.
But I will not be stirring there.
My fate I will not fight.

The owl hoots a scolding call
That stills the cricket’s din.
The noises in this netherworld
Resume their force within.

The worm and mouse and mole are here,
Beneath the shifted loam.
The skunk has carved a burrow now,
And made my coffin home.

I await a future judgment day,
For all the wrong I’ve done.
I cannot hold with any pride,
A victory which I’ve won.

Timeless, plays the rustling score
Of birth and life and death.
Now to fall asleep again,
A slumber without breath.