Grounded in the woods you call your own
With one who knows but will not say,
Away from the pretenders and their secrets
No one will let you down today,
Rich with the peace of expecting nothing
You have your chair at the top of the hill,
You have your dog and last year's leaves,
The sunset and the dioramic constellations,
You have until the extractors come,
You have until the extractors come,
And you vow to make the most of waiting.
