Here in my lap and rest" I would bless the grave?
It is this: I carry one upon my shoulders,
I carry him onward ever, and feel his hands
About my throat, his breath upon my neck.
It is he that makes my step so heavy,
And drives me wild, too, with the sound of his voice,
It is he that drinks my sleep,
And when I ask him, "Whither shall I take thee
That I may carry thee no more?"
He points to the horizon.