you’re becoming something of a mystery to me, you’re becoming something unbroken to me, you are a great circle to me, you are a great cycle to me, this is your life-stuff, passed from grandfather to grandchild, resurrected from dying grandfather to youthful grandchild, this is your life-stuff, resurrected each spring, dying each fall, the little dead seeds sprouting, the fallow fields growing tame and yellow in autumn, these are your little skulls, your little dead seeds, this is your life-stuff lying in wait throughout the winter, being passed from grandfather to grandchild (I was named for my grandfather), and you are a mystery to me, you are strange sometimes to me, little skull, tiny dead seed, and when you die, I shall scatter your body all about the fallow field in autumn, and you shall go on from life to life, from springtime to springtime, forever,