There's a meal Growing cold on my table. Roast beef and potatoes. I'm out here in the mist Drawing a line in the dirt From where I sit To that table Feeling the soil Clump together, The grass growing stiff. I know you are worrying. The clock on the mantle Does not lie. There are only so many hours in a night. I have found them all In the forest. I misstepped, But I still know the way. I will lay down, Close my eyes, Then I will be there. A lucky man, Feeling nothing, Only seeing That I have chopped enough wood For the fire to keep burning. Then, I will go. I must go.