DEATH Poem: Spring Wanderings, by Anita Liebscher

Down I lay
in soft spring grass,
pond beside me.

Cool breeze,
brushes my face,
wind from wings?

Clouds drift above,
dreams form,
eyes close.

Sparrow songs cease,
winds quiet,
cicadas give up their buzz.

Deeper I sink,
roots and worms,
beetles and ants.

No longer
can I feel
spring sun on skin.

Ancient scent,
fertile soil,
growls with life.

Moss merges with eyelids,
mushrooms sprout from scalp,
roots adorn ankles.

Soil muffles worms’ scrunch,
beetles click,
earth devours.