Wandering here, soft underfoot, I find myself
Contented, for once, but distracted by fine health
Because it was not like this yesterday, not calm
At all; pain. Not calm. But I didn’t want to say.
The last thing I wanted was to cause any alarm.
If this is ‘here’, why are there no bugs in my way?
I hear ethereal weeping beyond hushes
But please let me wander amongst the bulrushes.
No crocodile tears pour fourth from Ammit for me,
She cries with grief because the jackal says I’m free
And her hunger remains insatiate until
A liar or thief tips the scales into her maw.
Balmy today – but not tomorrow; at my will
We could have snow or storms and let the rain pour.
I can’t stand the heat and the marsh makes you perspire –
Though, to get to here, I walked through a lake of fire.