“This World Is Not My Home,
I’m Only Passing Through”
The more you say, the more mistakes you’ll make,
so keep it simple.
No one arrives without leaving soon.
This blue-eyed, green-footed world–
hello, Goldie, good-bye.
We won’t meet again. So what?
The rust will remain in the trees,
and pine needles stretch their necks,
Their tiny necks, and sunlight will snore in the limp grass.