There is a wood with no beginning.

Glad am I, to see it spread

above me now, canopy thinning.

I wish that I may find the end.

I could rise like birds from ashes,

or carried by twisting winds.

I would melt into the ether,

finally living out my end.

If desire and desperation

could reality impart,

I would ride sunrays like rivers,

freedom lightening soul and heart.