Spare

Summary

I watch the black crow, wing-wrenched,

walking on snow—how we can go on,

go on, memory-borne, through cold,

through wind's work, loved world,

till owl-dusk or fox-dawn. I want to walk

with my friends through broken-winged days,

want words to lift us back to the ordinary air,

to spare us pain. I want the words, when time

comes, to speak by our graves, to comfort

the living, honor the dead, lay each of us to rest

earth-borne, shroud-wound or wind-kissed,

grateful for life's brief flight of joy, light-blest.