One night I sat alone
Perched upon a rather plain rock--
Sitting on such a sorry stone--alone.
Alone. There I was, I thought my thoughts.
Thoughts? Not a lot.
In a lazy sort of way I pondered the closing of the day
And took it upon myslef to set my face
There in the sand!
What a day, what a place--to set my face in a pile of sand.
So I lay on my chest and breathed
The stony sand of this Plutonian beach.
Again I thought my thoughts. Suicide, thought I,
Is not the way to go.
But as I breathed that sand, I died.
What a way to go.
Suprisingly, as my body died
And was carried away to the East
I thought my thoughts like any time.
Thoughts? Not a lot, my thoughts deceased.
I found I had shed the material form
And the material world.
No longer an unhappy girl.
I thought to fly to Jupiter, or
Maybe Mars woul--The End.