He laid his tired head
On the earth’s fragrant bosom.
The ringlets of his hair mingled
With the ringlets of her grasses.

The humming of the bees
Seemed a lullaby
With the words running together, as in
The mind of a child sinking to sleep.

He longed to let his soul
Slip quietly into hers,
That she might breathe him in
And breathe him forth again

As the exhalation of her grasses,
The golden singing of her bees.