I will smile, and be free.
Free of death–
Which will come when it is ready.
I have broken through
lifelong years of worry
small, indoors it kept me,
away from the sun,
from God,
from electric love,
from tasting free air,
from truly breathing in
music and the night.
I will fly on the wind and jump from cliffs,
like rain,
unhaunted by humanly affliction.
Come down with me–
down to our South,
Heaven amidst wild land,
Bolivia is calling,
Santiago is yelling,
Lima is yearning,
Buenos Aires is throbbing
with my heartbeat
coursing through the land,
I will be there soon…
Through the Rye 