My legs are tired, heavy.
Each step’s more a slog.
The clock slows down.
Someone forgot to wind it.
Used to stay on top of that.
That kind of clock then.
Not so much nowadays.

No more steps.
I’m stopping still,
no more moving.
Planted and rooting,
I’ll grow deep.

You’re leaving,
going on ahead,
taking off from this point
here, where I’m staying put.
Can you do me one last favor?
When you arrive on the future side,
please find some way to let me know it’s all
you wished when you were on the past side here.

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