Neither one waiting at the bend
Nor stationed upon the hill
Was present to make offense
Or entertain some evil will.

A breeze came, another went -
Rattling the bursages
As a creeping serpent
Going into hiding does.

If I died right here -
How many lonesome clouds -
How many foraging birds
Would pass by before I was found?

Would the beloved sun
Care to kiss me good-bye?
Would the angels of the canyon
Guide me on my flight?