Here, now,
before I end,
I am desperate to live.

To hold life in my hand,
to feel the warm sunshine of it in my hand.

To wash my face in it and breath it.
To pour it into a goblet and sit on the sand, alone, drinking it,
listening to the music of my happiness.

Desperate to smile at children and young men,
and shopkeepers who say it's lovely to see me.

To return in the evening to a place of my own, a life of my own.

Please let me go.