One Last Thing

I ask of you one last thing
Bring me down to the sea before I die
My fingers are cold and bent from a life spent working with my hands
My legs are sore from years of walking on unyielding concrete
My back, bent over from carrying the burden of living, yearns to straighten once more as in my younger days

In my youth I traveled the mountains
They sang to me for a while
But their voice grew dim over time and then stopped
The winters grew grayer and more difficult to navigate
They lingered longer each year
The springs and summers grew shorter, and the flowers, always so brilliant in color, seemed to fade
The cold entered my bones and refused to leave, even when warmed by the fire

The city called and I answered
There was a loudness into which I disappeared and excitement in which I reveled
I was warm inside my cocoon
But I grew older
Surrounded by others I grew lonely
And the overwhelming noise that sang to me lost its rhythm
The nights became a suffocating blanket

Then I remembered the lightness of the sea
In the sea my fingers will straighten and my hands will warm
The yielding sand will cushion my stride
I will lean into the sea winds and they will help me stand upright and strong
Let me watch the waves trickle and dance up on the sand and then rush back in a frenzy so as not to be caught alone
This is where I belong
This is where I need to be
In these final days
Please, bring me down to the sea one last time before I die