WEBVTT

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I'll follow the second, the next
poem that follows immediately

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after.

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This false desire for life,
as I enjoy the sight of

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leaves turning
brown, red, orange

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against the clear blue sky.

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The leaves waving the wind,
to urge me to falsehood.

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To make myself a
chanter of life.

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A bar to cause and others to
live, for the glory of living.

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I'm tempted, but I refuse.

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I think death has its pleasures.

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That I surmise from the
dead, who lie very still.

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Strictly attentive to
each syllable and motion

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of their death, as
it attends on them.

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Stretched out like
children under the hypnotic

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crooning of the mother.

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