Ashes

It is said that
The hand that rocks the cradle, tends the grave
The wind rocking my hammock now will one day
Lift my ashes from someones hands and carry them
Up into the air, across the plains, into the sea
I will run free and will dance with the wind,
But slowly my ashes with sink back into the earth
Absorbed, embraced and soon I will be at rest
At home, and hidden in the bosom of the earth
At peace at last.

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