A bit morbid, but one of my better ones recently.
Sometimes I think I'd like to die
and fly upon a summer's breeze,
in ease unburdening every care
in the air so swift and free.
For I have walked this weary road,
my load upon my bending back,,
no lack of labor in my hands,
vast lands of worry behind me.
Sometimes I think, with heavy sigh,
to die is not a brutal end--
a friend instead, a gentle guide
inside each weary soul.
But then I think of warming suns,
the ones that burn the morning bright
with light that, golden, almost sings,
with wings that bear to other goals.
For light is sweet, the Preacher taught;
the knot of care it can unbind.
I find this true; I drink it deep;
it leaps on me like lover's kiss.
And so in gentle days in spring
I sing of light and gentle cheer.
No fear then weighs, no worry slays--
my day is sweet with sunlit bliss,
my heart is glad because of this.