"How could it be that one day I will say goodbye to all of this and miss
the lilac spring, the May times whistling on the wing, and the robin's
kiss? In the summertime, when days and evenings are in rhyme, you will not
find me in the grove among the lilies in repose or weeding in the garden
path where scented seedlings hold on fast. When autumn falls I'll cast no
shadow on the wall or hear the owl's haunted hoot high above the rotting
root. When all is orange russet red I will not be with you in bed. The day
the silent snow descends and lolls to sleep all living friends, I too will
slumber in the earth among the seeds and squirrel's birth. Who will miss
me? Who will care? When I am called and no one's there?"
- Duane Michals
