And when that final sigh of day
Drifts across pines and cedars,
I cannot help but feel
That a part of me dies.
Each single breath be one,
And no day can be two,
So if by chance I missed
A thing I should have done
I feel it sealed between then
And now; with yet to come
Another day. Surely
Such failure is a sin.
(09.17.74)