In that moor’s strict seclusion,
He would happily die.
He’d let the wind and rain (which he loved too much)
Take him deep into their sweet, deadly arms.
A calm, final movement.
A smooth, long fall through marsh grass -
Like Alice down the deepest well.
There shall be no pain.
There shall be no sorrow.
No one to cry.
Only a most-elemental death.
A slow fall from consciousness.
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