The Length of Time

If I could die without the thought of life
Engulfed in time's waste, the soul's peril
I would not ask for other joy than respiratory arrest.
With shining of Sun's ray and sound of birds.
I sit on perpetually troubled day by day.
Watching grass grow and wildflowers range.
From Blue to Yellow and Red to Gray.
In natural sequence as they wane away.

I could bait the wait, but for the hurt.
Of this incessant tick of time which chides my ear.
But I dear not sit with loins ungrit.
And staff unlifted, for death stands, neigh.
I must be up and doing, each second.
The sepulchre gives time for rest when we lay in it.