In a life

we leave,

and then return

to the place that gave us our souls.

 

We are born,

it is the first stop.

We leave,

second stop.

We return,

last stop.

 

Live out your days in the weeds

and comb your hair with a shell.

Love your place

and love your family.

Die with others

or die alone.

But the last stop is always the last.

When you return

it will always be the last.

 

I want my last stop to be where my first one was.

 

 

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