I was born in the Springtime
In the Winter I will die
The Harvest Moon is shining
As my time draweth nigh

I brought in some sheaves, I guess
Though now I don't rejoice
For to embrace religion is to
Silence freedom's voice

The cool chill of Autumn's wind
Slithers down my spine
The harbinger of death I hear
Whisper through the Pines

I do not stand and quake in fear
Or call out to a god
No more down this dead end road
Will I have to plod

Nothing in this universe
Can further torture me
No master did I ever need
And slave I will not be
--- Temy R. Beal