Mary, bury me by Ocean Parkhead,
Marry me, Unknown Soul,
Let me rest beneath this blanket
Thrown by chilly winds of Fall.
Let me dream of warmer evenings
When this tree was not so bare;
Shy for it’s aware of feelings —
Orange dresses it would wear.
Now its gown becomes our blanket,
Lie with me, Forgotten Soul,
Every bench by Ocean Parkhead,
Buried down by leaves of Fall,
Seems to have a special purpose —
Serves to Winter as a throne…
I am walking, yet in circles: