I walked along a path of dry white bones and wondered what death was. I shook my head to make the question go away, but death covered me the way skin once covered these bones. That night terrible visions within my sleep came to me. Then I awoke with my lungs faint of breath. In youth I would not have these dreams. But the end cannot be near? I do not know. I walked the path of bones once more and cried and laughed and found the answer: to cry along with laughter and in the balance sheet that is my life, may I profit from days of joy.
LIFE OF A POET - JOHN BUCHANAN
6 hours ago