My neighbors are the gray, wint'ring trees.

Smooth, wild-boundaried lake, fanned and dazzled by the air.

When there is less money, I put less in my stomach,

And thrive.

Nature puts her arms around me.

And I think of the prayers I'll say

In my last moments.

'Thank you, I am ready to go.'

(And fall, into your Depths. . .) 

The name never took. My name is Erik Jonsn. Sounds the same. Fewer letters. Saves ink.