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Perhaps on a day
very much like today
I shall die.
A pleasant July,
warm and kind.
It might be September
when summer is ending
and autumn begins.
If I die in winter
my ashes will mix with the snow
and melt into spring
as willows turn soft and green.
—And then I’ll return
to that time and space
that was my home
before my birth.
This article appeared in the Winter 2012 issue of UU World (page 21).