The Sabbath
With such cool ease, this ancient breeze
drifts over my head.
Passers by, pass on by,
their feet weighed down with lead.
They trail over the ancient earth
while down below the dead,
lowly growl and curse so foul,
within their holy beds.
Six feet above, how I do love,
the shade beneath the trees,
and unlike the dead, I drift off to bed,
like a stone against the breeze.
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