I don't know what it is to not be me,
Not to speak thus, think thus, be thus. And so
When I consider I must someday go
And that myself with thereby cease to be,
I cannot bear with equanimity
The thought of non-existence. Though I know.
That I will change and alter as I grow
The self that grows still momentarily
Experiences me, even if I
End up as other than the self that started.
When that last self becomes dearly departed
The life I had will with this body die
And all that's left will just be in the mind
Of those who knew me - and who these words find.
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