Plodding
Through the high arc of the reeds
As the black waters steam
And my limbs are reduced
Into ashes adrift

Like a family’s farewell
A funerary quest
From my seasons of quarrel

Soon the waters will calm
As I grind
To a pitiful gasp

And my thrashing
Will dismally fade
As the reeds arc higher

I’ll be far from dismay
In that untimely fall
Of vigor and sorrow

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