You know, sometimes
I dream of a wide-open field
Where I surrender without a fight.
I will fall in war,
Because
There are summits so high
I could never reach them, not even try.
And if tomorrow I am not meant to wake,
Or if I’m taken by a rushing car,
Bury me in a field of flowers,
Don’t close my dried-out eyes,
So something may still grow from them, at least,
If I myself never grew into
A happy human being.